It's a Treat to Beat Your Feet in the Mississippi
by 2BBornot2BB
Summary: IN CANON CASE FIC WITH ADULT CONCEPTS. The team are all affected by the murder of a young girl, sending B&B off into the hills of WV in an attempt to trace the victim - what they find shocks them. Booth helps Brennan deal with issues from her childhood.
1. FeetBeat

IT'S A TREAT TO BEAT YOUR FEET IN THE MISSISSIPPI MUD

By 2BBornot2BB

A/N: Well, here goes, my first foray into fan fic. I'm nervously testing the waters … have you heard of that 80's Australian band "Not Drowning, Waving"? That's me – I hope! A nasty new case for Team Jeffersonian, mostly looking at B/B's relationship, sometimes from the perspective of the other team members, more often from their own, not much fluff for now, a soupcon of angst, a heavy handed dash of UST and hoping it all comes together. A warning for those factophiles out there: I may have been a tad cavalier with some actual real world facts. Sorry.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [insert maniacal laughter here]!)

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Chapter One: Feet/Beat

_Booth and Brennan. Brennan and Booth. Brennan. Booth. Brennan and Booth_.

Cam Saroyan stepped back from the downdraft table where she had been meticulously debriding burnt epidermis to expose crimson subcutaneous tissue. She narrowed her eyes and peered at what the blade had revealed; a small area of clotting, and a tiny skerrick of what appeared at first glance to be a metal shaving. She carefully lifted the shaving away and placed it in a petri dish, ready for Hodgins, and put it with the other particulate matter she had gathered. In the background the music she'd had playing low on the portable stereo kept up its syncopated beat, a necessary distraction for her while she performed the autopsy of a nine year old girl in the stony quiet of the Jeffersonian mortuary suite. She hunched her shoulders a little, trying to shift some of the tension coursing across her back. Her head ached. She looked back at the small body on the table and sighed – there was a way to go yet. The soft music registered again somewhere in her anguished brain and she let the beat take over and soothe her.

_Booth and Brennan. Brennan and Booth. Brennan. Booth. Brennan and Booth._

With sudden awareness she registered what she'd unconsciously been substituting as lyrics to the sensuous beat, and her hands stilled. She closed her eyes for a moment in frustration, but managed a wry smile at herself. Damn the man, she could still remember the taste of him, but that train had left the station a long time ago. Damn it all to hell, when would those two shake the scales off their eyes and get real, get together and let her be able to move on?

"Shit." The single word echoed around the almost empty suite. The music had lost its comfort value and instead become a source of irritation. She placed the scalpel on the tray and moved across the room the punch the power off with her elbow. Silence ruled until she picked up her scalpel again and began to murmur into the overhead mike, recording her findings. Apart from the occasional shriek of the Stryker saw and the clatter of the instrument tray, her smooth voice was the overriding sound.

A couple of hours later she heard the distant footsteps of someone entering the lab. Within seconds two feet became four, then six and Cam recognised the sardonic tones of her resident artist and the answering teasing tenor of Jack Hodgins. She couldn't hear the words, but she didn't really have to. It was almost certainly about sex. She paused in her work for a moment, and could have scripted the next voice she heard: Zack's questioning accents. Apparently he didn't understand what they were talking about. No surprises there.

Her three colleagues entered the mortuary suite as Cam was covering the small form, all of them now silent as they came face to face with the subject of her minstrations. Cam peeled off her gloves and managed a small smile in their general direction, but she couldn't manage direct eye contact and resisted their sympathetic gazes.

"Finished. Jack, I've put some particulate for you to get started on over there. There's an odd metal artefact that I'd like you to look at first – it's got me stumped. Have you unpacked the samples you collected from the site?" Jack held up his case, and turned towards his office, gathering up the dishes from the side bench as he went. He caught her eye on the way past and gave her a tiny wink. She felt his warmth and was comforted. Angela followed Jack's exit with her eyes, her face screwed up in concern which she now directed at Cam. Wordlessly, she touched Cam's shoulder. She wanted to give her a hug, but knew she couldn't go there. Cam spoke again,

"Where are Dr Brennan and Agent Booth?" Cam didn't let her voice be anything other than calm and measured. Zack answered, "They're still at the scene. Dr Brennan said they'd still be there for a few more hours, but she wanted me to examine the photos that I've taken to see if I could posit any likely weapons."

"Well, you'd better do that then." It was said without rancour; she was used to Dr Brennan directing the action remotely. When it came to assessing the evidential priorities, Cam had learned to let Temperance Brennan call the shots. She trusted the talented forensic anthropologist's judgment in that area. What a shame her judgment was so abysmal when it came to more personal topics. _'That girl is a fool if she doesn't – '_ Cam stopped her mental remonstrations, it wouldn't get her anywhere.

"Angela, would you come with me. I need some help with the clothing. There seems to be a pattern to the singeing and you've got a talent for recognising patterns, you might be able to see something there." She turned away from the table and headed towards the exit.

"Sure thing Cam". With that they left the mortuary suite and the diminutive figure on the downdraft table. Silence filled the air, along with the faint stench of burned flesh.

**********

"Booth. Booth. Where are you?" Temperance Brennan's voice was rough with anxiety, her foot tap-tapping her impatience on the ground. She squinted into the sunlight, trying to make out the broad shoulders and tapered hips of her partner from the line of mostly uniformed police standing in a straggly queue about twenty metres in front of her where an older woman was dispensing coffee and doughnuts. When he didn't respond, she started forward towards them, until a hand reached out and halted her progress. With a grunt of frustration, she let the reactive force of Booth's grip spin her around to face him almost challengingly.

"Settle down, Bones, I'm right here." Booth smiled indulgently at her, but didn't break contact. "You know I'm never very far away. Now, what do you need?" Booth kept his tone as light as his touch, but he could see that his partner was wound up as tight as a drum. He could almost feel the excess adrenaline humming through her veins. He let his thumb gently stroke the inside of her arm and she relaxed imperceptibly. Neither of them was consciously aware of the action or reaction.

They'd been called out last night around 11:00pm to the scene of one of the worst murders he'd come across for a long time. The sight of a murdered child stays with you forever, but the sight that confronted them when they got to the old barn was heinous. There was the apparatus of torture, and the child's partially charred remains attested to the fact that an effort had been made to burn the evidence. Brennan's team from the Jeffersonian had been and gone hours ago, taking with them as much trace evidence as they could gather. The child's body had been sent directly to Cam to autopsy once Brennan had made the initial examination. Now Brennan was taking the last measurements of the scene and bagging a tiny sliver of metal that had caught her eye.

"I need to get back to the Jeffersonian right away." Temperance couldn't drag her eyes away from a drop of sweat that was trickling down Booth's temple. It was hot, and the sun promised more heat as the day progressed. She'd done all she could for the victim here at the scene. Now she needed to do what she did best. The autopsy should have concluded by now and she wanted to examine the injuries in the lab before she had Zack macerate the bones for the intensive examination which would take place later.

Booth watched as Bones gathered up the last of her equipment, taking the heavy scene examination case from her and seeing her to the SUV. He left her by the truck while she stripped off her coveralls and boots and as he went to speak with the local Sheriff he watched her every movement for signs of strain, one ear listening for the snap of latex that signalled she was finished and had taken off the haz gloves. He knew she'd work around the clock until she got some answers, but already he recognised the signs of her exhaustion. He longed to reassure her by wrapping his arms around her and making the world go away, but knew she'd reject that comfort. His foot broke a twig as he walked back across the grass towards her, and she lifted her head at the sound. Her blue eyes speared him to the spot – what had she seen in his face that made her frown like that? He fought to keep his expression neutral, and then her features softened and his heart skipped a beat.

"Hey, Bones, ready to hit the road?"

"Sure."

He handed her into the passenger seat, and walked around the back checking that all the equipment was stowed safely before getting in the driver's side. Bones had laid her head back against the headrest, her eyes shut. The SUV roared to life and Booth pulled onto the gravel driveway that led away from the old barn. It would take about an hour to drive back to the lab, so he figured if Bones felt like it she could grab a bit of sleep on the way and he wouldn't disturb her. He stayed silent, glancing at her sideways after a few minutes, but he did a double take when he saw that her eyes were open and fixed on his face.

"Wha-at?" He asked her. She screwed up her nose a bit and shrugged her shoulders, still watching him. Her steady gaze began to unnerve him a little. What was coming? After a few more miles, she finally spoke,

"Booth, would you pull off the road up ahead in that clearing?" Booth looked at her sharply, trying to gauge her mood and guess what might be on her minefield of a mind. She wasn't giving anything away, but her eyes beseeched him to do as she asked. He checked the traffic in the rear view mirror, before beginning to slow.

"Sure Bones, but I thought you wanted to get back to the Jeffersonian ASAP?"

"I do, but I want you to pull over for a minute, if that's okay?" Without another word, he did as she asked, turning the engine off and twisting in the seat to look at her expectantly. To his shock, she placed her hand over his and squeezed gently, saying -

"Booth, I know this case is going to be hard for you as you are a parent and your son Parker will be on your mind all the time, and I wanted you to know that – " here she struggled for words, seeming unable to articulate her intentions. That little crease appeared between her brows, and she pulled a wry face before continuing, "Booth, you know I have difficulty with this sort of thing, but I just wanted you to know that I – " she stumbled on the words again, and fell back to repeating something he'd said to her several times "I'm here for you Booth, any time, any way I can help if you need it. That's all I wanted to say." She looked out of the side window and the silence between them was filled with crickets chirruping and distant traffic noise. He couldn't help the swell of emotion he felt when she said those words, and the warmth he felt spread over his face. She kept her face turned away from him and he wordlessly restarted the SUV, checked for traffic and pulled back out onto the road. When he found his voice again, he said

"I know Bones, I know you've got my back. Thanks for telling me though, it means a lot." He paused, giving her a sidelong look, grasping for something to relieve her obvious discomfort at the personal nature of her statement.

"Bo-ones ..." He asked with a spreading grin, " Are we having a moment?" Brennan looked at him gravely and responded,

"I don't know what that means." But a smile played on her lips as she put her head back on the headrest, closing her eyes. In a few moments she had relaxed and was dozing.

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All input gratefully received ....


	2. Sun downTide out

Chapter Two: Sun down/tide out

A/N: Apologies to my wonderful and very generous reviewers – a totally inconvenient technical glitch meant I couldn't respond to you straight away. I so much appreciate you reading my story and taking the time to review – it's incredibly encouraging to this newbie! I hope you enjoy this instalment, and I've got another chapter on the boil so with luck I'll get it up reasonably soon.

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Our heroes are working hard to identify the young victim. Brennan's pushing her physical limits to help speed identification, and Booth's looking out for her (he's so good at that, isn't he?).

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [insert maniacal laughter here]!)

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Chapter Two: Sun Down/Tide Out

Brennan sat alone in her office, her fingers resting motionless on the keyboard. The light from her desk lamp was the only illumination and there was no sound apart from a background hum of the air conditioning. She was exhausted. She's been battling to keep her eyes open for an hour or so, and just as her lids started to close gain, the phone rang. She looked at the display, it was Booth

"Hi Booth." She tried to keep the fatigue from her voice, but failed.

"Where are you Bones? Did I wake you up?" her partner asked. She had to blink a couple of times to clear her head. With a quick glance at the clock on the screen, she realised it was just after midnight.

"No, no – I was just …" She prevaricated, not wanting to admit that she was tired, "What's up? Has something happened?"

"Nope." Booth paused briefly, "I was expecting you to call – I thought we were meeting at the Diner about four hours ago to get something to eat? I just tried your apartment, but got your service. Whaddaya doing?" Trying to stifle a yawn, Brennan used her free hand to rub her eyes, mussing her hair in the process. She thought Booth was disgustingly chirpy considering the time.

"I'm collating the results from the tests Dr Hodgins and Zack did this afternoon." She sighed, "I'm sorry I didn't call you." Brennan had her back to the door so she didn't notice Booth stepping out of the darkness that shrouded the rest of the lab, into the arc of light radiating from her office. He had his phone to his ear.

"Bones" he said reproachfully, "You know what all work and no play did to Jack?" Confusion furrowed her brow, what was he talking about?

"What has Dr Hodgins got to do with anything?" she demanded crossly. Booth rolled his eyes and severed the connection, leaving her hanging while he stepped quietly up behind her.

"It makes Jack a dull boy." The words were spoken softly, and Brennan was shocked to the core by the sensation of Booths' breath against her neck. She swung her head towards him sharply, their foreheads almost colliding.

"Booth, you startled me! What are you doing here?" He held up a brown paper bag brimming with food containers and for the first time the tantalising smells coming from the bag registered on her senses.

"You gotta eat, right Bones? I bet you haven't eaten anything all day." She flashed him a rueful smile, and realised she was starving. He settled himself on the couch, doling out several containers of steaming food. The office was quickly redolent with spice. Booth looked up at her with a wide grin and patted the couch next to him. She didn't need any more prompting and took her place, elbowing him out of the way so that she had more space. They didn't speak while they each loaded the plastic plates he'd brought with a generous taste of each dish.

"Mmm - Indian? Where did you get Indian?"

"New place." Booth tried to talk around a mouthful of steaming samosa, "Couple of blocks from your apartment, near the whole food place you keep telling me to go to."

"Where were you this afternoon? I thought you would have been here to check on our progress."

"I was in court – the Murchison matter."

"Didn't she plead guilty after we gave you that DNA evidence from her husband's credit card?" Booth nodded confirmation,

"I got called in to give evidence at the sentencing hearing. Her daughter refused to give a victim impact statement so the DA wanted to give the judge a bit more insight into her motives. He seemed to think I had some insight."

"Well, he would be right. You appeared to almost be able to second guess Madeleine Murchison's next move – you have an innate sense regarding human behaviour that at times is astonishing." Brennan ladled another spoonful of tikka masala onto her plate and almost missed the narrow look Booth gave her as she did so, although she misinterpreted his motive.

"Calm down, I've left you plenty." She helped herself to another pastry, "This is really very good."

They ate in companionable silence for a little while until Brennan pushed the plate away and sat back, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin. She waited while Booth emptied the last of the contents of a couple of containers onto his plate, adding some steamed basmati rice to the mix. She raised her eyebrows at the pile of food,

"You may regret consuming that amount of food later – its pretty spicy. You know, terpene oils have local anti-inflammatory and antispasmodic effects upon the mucous lining and the muscle coats of the alimentary canal. Abdominal massage can be therapeutic as well." Booth kept chewing and she went on, "Current research provides further evidence of the curry spices' antioxidant effects on tissue with relatively weak antioxidant defenses, such as the brain."

"Turpentine - what? Are you telling me dinner will give me nightmares? Or that I'll maybe need a tummy rub later?" Booth gave her a comically lecherous look, forking some more food into his mouth, and squeezing his eyes shut in pain as he bit into a particularly potent chilli.

"Booth, there's no evidence that overindulging in spicy food will affect anything other than your alimentary canal." She couldn't help a throaty chuckle at his antics, but her expression abruptly sobered. "The only nightmare you will have is from this case." She said quietly. Booth put his plate aside and half turned to look at her.

"What have your squints turned up?"

"As I already concluded, the body is of a Caucasian pre-pubescent female. However epiphysial fusion puts the age at around 10 to 13 years old, although the size suggests younger. It appears that she was protein energy malnourished as there is significant thinning and low density of the diaphyses – the shaft of the long bones. It's unusual in someone who was raised in the United States, although I've seen it many times in so-called third world countries. Cam found very little in the stomach contents, a partially digested chocolate bar, as well as bacterial proliferation in the portion of the upper intestine that was still intact. The victim was suffering from malnutrition.

"The lower body was burned through all layers of the dermis, with momentous burns to the head and left arm. Patterning suggests the use of an accelerant. Hodgins will confirm. As well, there was significant wear on the patellae and bilateral epicondylitis – tennis elbow - which could imply that the victim was accustomed to repetitive physical labour. There are slight changes at the lumbar spine that support that conclusion. I'm not able to give you a better picture than that at the moment. I believe Angela will be able to give us some ideas as to the cause or causes tomorrow when she's had a chance to enter all the variables into the computer."

"Do you think maybe she was brought up on a farm, Bones? There are lot of smallholdings in the area where she was found, and kids often muck in and help, particularly when there are no other alternatives. A lot of farms have gone under in recent times, families have to pull together sometimes to make ends meet."

"That makes sense, although this was more than just "mucking in". The wear and tear visible on the x-rays speaks to a consistent level of heavy physical work. As well, there was some evidence of bruising in the soft tissue on her back and sides, although Cam says it was healing and could have been incurred up to a week prior to death. There is no obvious evidence that she put up a struggle, so it's possible she may have been drugged. We'll have the tox results in the morning.

"Booth, there are kerf marks on the C5 vertebra which suggests – "

" – her throat was cut?" Booth finished for her. Brennan nodded and continued.

"There is no evidence that the victim was alive when that occurred."

"Thank God for that. So what was the cause of death?"

"Cam has hypothesised that death was a result of myocardial infarction."

"A heart attack?" Booth was surprised. He got up from the couch and started to pace along the glass wall of the office, needing an outlet for his emotions.

"More specifically a clot. I will of course need to rule out any other cause of death that may be revealed on my examination of the skeletal remains in the morning. Dr Hodgins still has a stack of particulate evidence to identify, but he's been able to confirm the time of death: no more than 24 to 36 hours before the remains were discovered."

"Any sign of sexual assault?" Booth's stance reflected his tension as he braced himself for her answer.

"None. No bruising, no semen present. Clothes were intact and in place where undamaged by fire. There was a pattern of singeing on the clothes that hasn't yet been identified." The partners fell silent, each occupied with their own thoughts. Booth threw himself back down on the couch and when he finally spoke, his tone was edged with self-disgust,

"Poor kid, she dies hungry and terrified, and I've just eaten enough to feed several kids."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Booth." Brennan instinctively moved towards him, her hand reaching out to him, "Humans obey a survival imperative to store energy when we have the opportunity – you would never knowingly deprive a child of a meal, or anything else for that matter. It's coded into our DNA to be protective of the young. Rationally speaking, as an alpha male, your need to remain stronger and fitter than your competitors is exigent."

"I wish you'd quit calling me an alpha male – it makes me sound like some sort of hunting dog." he said curtly. Brennan screwed up her mouth in a moue of regret, but didn't take it any further. She let her hand drop, and moved back to take a seat at her desk.

"I won't know conclusively until I've examined the bones further but I suspect the victim suffered abuse over a substantial period of time, and there's further evidence that strongly suggests that she was also subjected to several forms of torture at the time of her death. But there are some things that don't add up in a logical sense and I'm not willing to make any firm ruling on the cause of death at the moment." She fell silent, her brow furrowing in frustration. Booth abruptly jumped up and got her coat off the rack,

"C'mon Bones, time to get you to bed. You haven't slept for over 36 hours and maybe things will be a bit clearer in the morning after you get some rest – "

"I had a couple of hours on the couch – "

"Some _proper_ sleep. In your own bed. In your jammies with your teddy bear for company."

"I don't own a teddy bear."

"Well, I'll get you one some time." Brennan shot him a look, but let him help her into her coat, binning the remnants of their meal on the way out. Their footsteps echoed along the hall, bringing one of the security guards still on duty out to see who was there. Booth acknowledged him, but Brennan didn't even see him; she was still wrestling with her thoughts.

They got to her car, and Brennan turned to her partner.

"What does your gut say about this case, Booth? I trust your instincts." Booth pressed his lips together and exhaled on a sigh,

"My gut is completely silent on this one so far, Bones. I don't have a feel for anything yet." His tone was regretful.

Brennan half smiled, "Well, after that meal I can pretty much guarantee your gut might be communicating with you sometime in the next few hours, although maybe not in any way related to this case." Booth groaned dramatically at her bad joke, appreciating her effort to lighten his mood, and handed her into the driver's seat of her car. He closed the door and took a step back. He saw the quick frown that crossed her features as though something was still bothering her and he waited for her to go on.

"I don't actually wear pyjamas, Booth. Goodnight." Satisfied that she'd clarified the facts she pulled away and didn't hear Booth groan again, a reaction that had nothing to do with amusement.

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I'd love to hear what you think … please review if you have the time.


	3. VigourVim

With heartfelt thanks to my lovely beta, pax mundi, who just doesn't know how good he is! I'd love it if you would read and review this chapter, then check out his story, "The Boy on the Mall"… you've got a real treat ahead of you!

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [insert maniacal laughter here]!)

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Chapter Three: Vigour/Vim

"Booth, for crying out loud settle down!" Cam wriggled her back as if she had an itch between her shoulder blades, "Pacing up and down like that won't get these results done any faster." Booth perched himself sulkily on one of the lab stools, but he couldn't stop his leg jiggling in frustration. He started to tap his pen on the bench top. Cam could only tolerate the sound for a few seconds before she peeled off her mask and pushed away from the scanning electron microscope on which she'd been examining slides. She grabbed Booth's arm and started to drag him off the stool, "Out. Now. Go do secret FBI Special Agent stuff somewhere else." Booth just rolled his eyes, but complied – sitting here on his ass with nothing to do was definitely not his idea of fun.

He poked his head in Brennan's office to see what she was up to, but the room was empty. His senses registered the vestiges of the fragrance she used - or was it her shampoo? She always smelled nice. He let his mind wander as his eyes moved over the familiar features of the room, taking in the eclectic group of artefacts she'd gathered on her travels that were placed strategically on the shelves, gathering dust. He fingered the little blue plastic figurine he'd given her a while ago, which she kept next to her computer screen. He noticed that the creature's hair had started to wear away from being touched and that made him smile. A pile of neatly stacked, typed pages placed squarely on the return of her desk caught his eye and he had to stop himself from going closer to see if it was a draft of her new book. He thrust his hands in his pockets and spun on his heel. Time to find Bones.

* * *

"Hey Bones, what you got for me?" His tone was light as Booth swiped his card through the security point before bounding up the steps to the platform. He strode directly to her side where she was looking at some particulate Hodgins had just identified. He pretended to try and look through the lens and she slapped his hand away, but he just playfully punched her lightly on the arm. His smile slipped a little at the irritation in her eyes.

"Hey, dude, relax – what are you on?" Booth hadn't even noticed that Jack Hodgins was stood on the other side of the scope.

"I'm high on life, buddy, high on life." Booth avoided Brennan's sceptical look and transferred his attention to Hodgins, whose excitement was almost tangible.

"Well, this should send you off the scale – I've identified the metal shavings found both on the remains and at the scene. The base metal is lead and it's finely crusted with minute white crystals. The crystals are potassium hydroxide – an electrolyte produced as a by-product of corrosion on battery terminals."

"Like a car battery?" Booth asked dubiously, not expecting to be right.

"Most likely a car battery, although there are one or two other possibilities. The percentage of other metals in the lead is in a proportion common across the market, so I haven't been able to pin it down to one type of battery, or even to one manufacturer."

"How would that have got there? Was it something she just picked up in her normal routine or is there another explanation?" Possible scenarios were bouncing around Booth's mind.

Hodgins shrugged his shoulders, already moving on mentally to the other particulate that had been recovered, "I don't do the _how_, I do the _what_." Booth felt his temper begin to kindle at Hodgins' dismissive attitude.

Brennan expanded on the information they had, "Cam recovered metal shavings when she examined the victim's tissue. They were identical to those I found near the body so there is a higher probability that the body came in contact with the source of the shavings at the scene."

Hodgins went on, "There was something else, I confirmed that an accelerant was used to burn the body. Ordinary gasoline with an AKI octane rating of 88, commonly available."

"Could the octane rating be significant?" Booth asked, "Because I know that in higher-altitude areas, you should use a lower octane rated fuel."

"True." Jack considered the point for a moment, "A typical engine draws in less air mass per cycle due to the reduced density of the atmosphere. In high altitude States, 85 AKI is the minimum octane, and 91 AKI is the maximum octane available in fuel. But the 88 rating is used widely, regardless of altitude. I don't think it is something that will help you in this case."

"Damn." Booth said under his breath, taking out his frustration on the recycle bin under one of the desks, sending it spinning a foot or so to the edge of the forensic platform. Several sheets of paper spilled out and landed at Booth's feet. Looking up, he found Brennan's unwavering gaze on him and immediately felt foolish. He awkwardly reached down to pick up the paper and straighten the bin. Before he could say anything she returned to her task, her expression unreadable.

"Booth, when we have the facts, you will have the facts. Kicking an inanimate object is hardly a logical way to speed the process and is not conducive to workplace safety." Her tone was distinctly cool and he could tell that she had withdrawn behind her professional shield.

He rubbed his hand wearily across the back of his neck, shamefaced.

"I apologise, I know you're all working hard to get some answers. All this waiting is getting to me and there's so little to show so far." He was looking at Brennan but she ignored him. It was Hodgins who responded.

"Yeah – it's frustrating as hell, but we'll keep going until we've got something solid." Jack shook his head and smiled thinly before turning back to his workstation, "Get some rest, man, you're wearing yourself out."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Booth found himself looking at both their backs and realised he'd worn out his welcome for now. "Well, I'll get out of your way and go and do some FBI stuff." No reaction. He continued in a more conciliatory tone, "Maybe we could compare notes later on, Bones?" When she didn't answer he moved over and placed his arm lightly over her shoulders, "Eh, Bones?"

Despite herself Brennan wasn't able to continue ignoring him. She looked up, and her features softened at the repentant look in his warm, brown eyes. She nodded her assent, and he gave her shoulders a squeeze.

"That's my girl!" He said softly, and left the platform the way he came, bounding down the stairs, high on life and headed back to the J Edgar Hoover Building.

* * *

"Angela will start the facial reconstruction after I've completed my examination of the bones. Zack, you found evidence of old injuries on your initial exam?" Brennan paused to go to the desk and check some notes. "A broken left ulna and right humerus, both breaks having healed with some malformation of the bone?"

"Yes, Dr Brennan." Zack didn't elaborate, waiting for the question he knew would follow.

"What does the malformation of the bone suggest to you?" Dr Brennan's gaze was unwavering and Zack did not want to disappoint her. He had the answer already formed in his head,

"Two possibilities: it's feasible that the victim did not receive appropriate medical treatment at the time of the injuries. The lack of density in the bone in conjunction with the peculiar malformation around the site of each break would also suggest that basic nutritional needs were not met during the healing process. I've ruled out the possibility that she was suffering from a congenital disease which affected the healing process." They moved to stand in front of the widescreen monitor currently displaying an x-ray of two small hands. Zack continued,

"The proximal phalanges on the left hand appear to have a poorly healed greenstick fracture. There are minor arthritic changes to the joint. Someone bent her thumb back so far as to break the bone.

"The third and fourth distal phalanges of the right hand have been crushed recently but had begun to heal, although she would still have been in a considerable amount of pain from the injury."

"Very good!" Brennan granted Zack a small smile of praise and he beamed back at her in his lopsided way, tossing his head in an attempt to get the hair out of his eyes.

"Dr Brennan, will I examine the bones for marks that would indicate a weapon?" his question was earnest and matched his expression.

Brennan nodded her assent but was preoccupied as she transferred her gaze to the remains, a frown marring her lovely face. She stared at them for several minutes, her eyes flicking back and forth along their length, in rhythm with her heartbeat. She was able to substantiate the wear on the patellae, bilateral epicondylitis and other damage that the x-rays had revealed, but now she was looking for possible cause of death. Slight shadowing on the lateral condyle caught her eye, and she circled the light table to observe the irregularity from several perspectives. Closer examination under UV light merely revealed an acceptable variance to the surface of the bone. She moved unhurriedly to the skull.

The silence stretched as she continued her precise examination. Once again, she circled the remains before taking the skull in her hands and turning it slowly around and over against the light. All twenty eight bones appeared to be within expected norms – there were no suspicious marks or fissures on any the cranial or facial bones. The teeth, although marked characteristically by malnutrition, showed no abnormalities that quickened her pulse. Brennan unconsciously gnawed on the inside of her lower lip, her mouth twisted slightly to one side. Her frown deepened and she sighed softly. Although she did not falter from her task for a moment, she found herself wondering where Booth was, what he was doing. The level of tension that she had observed in him over the last few days was out of character and she resolved to do something about it. Brennan nodded to herself, pleased at her decision to be pro-active and help out her partner. She came to the conclusion that she was becoming quite adept at helping people with their interpersonal problems!

Zack didn't detect any of her internal cogitations, nor did he question her outward immobility; nothing Dr Brennan did could be anything other than perfect. He continued his own examination, content to be working alongside her. An hour ticked by without a word being spoken.

High heels tapping on tile signalled Angela's approach and Brennan relaxed on her stool as she placed the final tissue depth marker on the skull.

"Hey, Bren, are you ready for me yet?" Angela let her weight rest on one hip while she waited for an answer. Her features softened when she saw the weariness curving in her friend's usually ramrod straight back.

Brennan swung towards the sassy voice, unable to keep the smile from forming on her lips. Angela always gave her a lift, no matter the circumstances – she radiated positive energy. Not that Brennan would ever express it in those terms, but she acknowledged that their differences complemented each other.

"Your timing is impeccable." Brennan placed the skull on a stainless steel tray and passed it to Angela, "I'd be grateful if you'd let me know as soon as you've got something we can use." She hesitated and Angela waited expectantly for her to continue, but there was nothing forthcoming. Angela didn't push it and turned to go back to her office, "Of course, sweetie, I'll get started on it now." She'd only taken half a dozen steps when Brennan found her voice again.

"Angela, wait up, I'll walk with you." Brennan rose from the stool a little stiffly and surreptitiously tried to cover a yawn with her hand. "Zack, I'd like you to continue to examine the bones, paying particular attention to the old injuries. It may be they're masking a more recent injury that could lead us to the cause of death. If you need me, I'll be with Dr Hodgins after I've spoken with Ms Montenegro." She fell in step with Angela but missed the sideways look the artist gave her.

"You okay, sweetie?" They'd reached the door of Angela's office, and she placed the steel tray and its macabre cargo carefully on a work surface. Brennan hovered in the doorway, clearly unresolved about whether to take whatever was on her mind any further.

"Yes I'm fine, thank you." Brennan paused, and seemed to come to a decision. "Angela, this case is taking an emotional toll on us all, but particularly on Booth; he doesn't find it as easy as I do to compartmentalise. He's been extremely tense since we got this case and I worry that his performance will ultimately be affected in the negative, which in turn he would find intolerable. I wouldn't normally intercede, but – well, it's important. I need some advice about Booth – " Brennan was bewildered by Angela's little squeal of joy,

"Why, what has he said to you?" Angela asked breathlessly.

Brennan looked even more perplexed, and replied "Nothing, wh-why?" When Angela remained silent she went on, "I want to know what I can do that will help him relax?"

Angela's posture drooped in disappointment, and she raised one eyebrow and replied sardonically, "Well, there's always sex. Most people find _that_ relaxing."

"Very funny, Ange. Booth and I are partners - not … you know … _partners."_ Brennan blushed a little when she repeated the word with a different emphasis, her discomfiture making Angela's grin widen. Bren could really be obtuse sometimes, particularly when it came to relationships generally and Special Agent Seeley Booth in particular. Angela acknowledged that the dynamics between Booth and Brennan were something out of the box. Even so, it was a major step forward that Brennan had actually permitted herself to acknowledge her concern for him, and recognise one potential outcome of Booth's behaviour. Thank goodness she had asked for assistance instead charging ahead with one of her usually awkward attempts to rectify a problem with what she saw as a logical solution. Angela fought to keep her expressive features tranquil as Brennan continued,

"I believe it would be advantageous for him to interact with people in a social setting." Angela could only stare at Brennan with a fixed smile, wondering where this was heading. Brennan was obviously struggling with herself, and the next part came out in a rush, "Can you talk to him? Make him go on a date or something?" Even as she was saying it, Brennan wanted to take the words back and regretted making the suggestion. It was completely outside her purview.

Angela was dumbstruck. With a shake of her head to clear her thoughts, she took her friend's hand and led her to a chair, making her sit while she closed the office door. Angela came back and stood in front of Brennan, her hands on her hips. "Brennan, seriously, have you lost your mind?" she asked dryly.

"What? No – " Brennan sputtered, "I was merely positing a solution to a perceived problem. I thought – "

"You didn't think." Angela interrupted bluntly, affectionate amusement taking the sting out of her words. She continued on more gently, "Did it ever occur to you that Booth is doing exactly what he wants to do with his evenings?"

"But Booth hasn't seen anyone outside of work for a long time – I should know, he spends most evenings with me."

Angela had to check to make sure that Brennan was straight-faced, but as usual she was. She continued as if Brennan hadn't spoken,

"And that Booth is actually _'interacting with people in a social setting'_ already?" Brennan just looked confused again. Angela paused, waiting for Brennan's brilliant mind to catch up. When it didn't, she bent down and touched her friend's hand.

"With you, sweetie."

Brennan pulled her hand away as if it were burned. She looked a little distracted and reiterated, "But we're partners. Of course we spend a lot of time together." Angela sighed deeply at the irony of her statement, deciding not to push the issue any further. She knew from experience that in this area she should tread lightly with Brennan. She straightened up and went to the easel she'd been using earlier, giving Brennan some figurative and literal space.

"Just be there for him if he needs to talk, okay? Other than that, he's a grown man who should be left to make his own decisions about his personal life."

Brennan looked relieved, "Sure – you know best. Be there when if he needs to talk – I can do that." She flashed her friend a quick smile, "Thanks Ange." She was out the door before Angela could say another word.

* * *

Please review … I'm hungry for your lerv!


	4. Play itSway it

A/N: Hope you're enjoying my first fanfic - I'd love to get some feedback on the amount of tech detail -v- Broothiness - I'm wondering whether the balance is right. It's fun writing both, and it'd be good to hear what you think!

Once again, heartfelt thanks for my beta, paxmundi (what would I do without you, eh?), who helps me keep it real. I'd love it if you would read and review this chapter, then head over and check out his great story, "The Boy on the Mall" which is heading for its thrilling conclusion ... keep an eye on him, though, cause I happen to know he's got a new story up his sleeve that'll knock your socks off!

* * *

Chapter 4: Play it/Sway it

* * *

Booth put the SUV into gear and revved the engine. They'd had lunch near the Hoover building and were getting ready to return to the Jeffersonian when Booth had received the call they'd both been waiting on.

"We've got a lead. Local police up in Lewis County, West Virginia may have found a link to our victim. They'd sent some hair and other trace from a possible crime scene for routine analysis and we've had a DNA match to our victim. They just might have stumbled on to the place where our victim was living." His face had lit up with the news. Finally: something he could act on. Booth checked his mirrors, sliding into the traffic.

"But the body was found in a barn west of Front Royal? That's got to be two or three hours away." Brennan's brow was creased in thought, "Where's the connection?"

"That, my friend, is for us to find out. Pack your bags, Bones, we're heading up into the Blue Ridge Mountains."

***************

They made a fleeting visit to the lab so that Brennan could retrieve her evidence kit and then headed to her apartment. Booth pulled up in front of her building, but kept the engine running.

"Booth, it'll take me about ten minutes to get ready. I have to grab a couple of things out of the laundry, my toiletries and that's pretty much it. You know I'm very well-organised. Normally I'd have a bag packed and ready, but when Ange went away last weekend she borrowed – " Booth was staring out of the windshield, his supple fingers tapping the wheel. She watched him closely for a few moments; he seemed to be counting under his breath.

When he didn't reply Brennan continued, "Okay. I understand your sense of urgency, but there are some items a woman can't leave home without. Would it help you to remain calm if I particularised them?" A small smile played around her lips as Booth's head snapped around towards her, and she felt a little guilty at manipulating him in this way, but also inordinately pleased that she'd managed to use one of Booth's own ploys against him. She knew that his innate sense of propriety would kick in, and he was quick to cut her off.

"Whoa - hey, no need to go there, Bones. You just get what you need and we'll get on our way." He started tapping the steering wheel again, this time the lighter in his hand adding a metallic staccato to the sound.

"It doesn't make any sense that you wait in the car and it won't make me hurry any more than I already am. You're very worked up - you can make us both a soothing chamomile tea while I get some things together, and we can go over what we're going to do." Brennan was searching for her keys in her bag and missed Booth's eyes start to roll back into his head.

"No way, Bones. We go up to your apartment, you'll check your messages, then you'll have to make a couple of phone calls, then we'll have to wait while your publisher or someone calls you back, then she'll want you to call in on our way out of town … " Booth looked pointedly at Brennan, confident in the knowledge that he was right.

Brennan couldn't help a throaty chuckle at his pained expression, "You're probably quite accurate – my publisher has been leaving messages for me for the last couple of days." She considered the possibilities, "Actually, we have to go straight past her office on the way and it would make sense to –"

"Uh-uh, Bones, we are not stopping off on the way … you just go get your gear from your apartment and we'll get on the road. I'd like to avoid rush hour on the Beltway."

"What about your things? Won't you need a change of clothes?"

"I don't need much and anyway, I've got a change in my gym bag in the back. There aren't any special 'man things'-" disdain on those two words, "- I need to pick up from home."

"I think you should change out of a suit. This is pretty remote country we're heading to - you might stand out considerably."

"I'm fine the way I am. Sometimes it pays to advertise."

"I don't know what that means." Brennan didn't waste time trying to work it out. She inclined her head and gave him a slightly disparaging look. "Are you coming? At least you'll be able to observe for yourself that I'm not wasting undue time." He was able to ignore her for a few moments, then abruptly turned the engine off and got out of the car. He knew from past experience that it was easier to do what she wanted when she was like this. It didn't stop him from muttering under his breath, "But I'm not drinking any damn tea."

Two cups of coffee were steaming on the on the kitchen counter when she came out of her bedroom a short time later, a well-worn overnight bag held out in front of her. Booth took it from her with one hand and handed her a coffee with the other. She inhaled the aroma appreciatively, in reality pleased that it wasn't the tea she'd suggested. While they made desultory conversation about the logistics of the trip, Brennan eyed her answering machine which was flashing with stored messages. When she caught Booth's warning look she resisted the urge to check them, which earned her a wide, dimpled smile.

"Good girl. C'mon, let's get going." She'd taken the opportunity to change into black jeans and a slim-fitting tan twill jacket. Booth couldn't help running an appreciative eye over the result. He let out a low whistle, "You know, that whole forensic-anthropologist-on-a-mission-urban-commando look really rocks."

His words brought her to an abrupt halt, "Is there something wrong with what I'm wearing?" she wanted to know.

"Nothing – I'm saying you look nice!" He laughed affectionately as he clarified his comment.

"Oh. Well, - thank you. You always look very nice, too." She was quietly pleased now that she knew it was meant as a compliment. Booth moved her bag to his other hand and ushered her out of the apartment, his right hand at the small of her back.

***************

They'd just turned onto Route 66 when Brennan's phone rang. Booth had been humming _'Born to be Wild' _wildly off key, but mercifully abandoned his version when she put the phone on speaker.

"Hey, sweetie. How's the road trip?" Angela voice boomed from the speaker. She continued without waiting for an answer, "I've finished the sketch of our victim."

"Send it to my notebook, would you?" Brennan slipped the computer out of its carry bag and set it up. The page loaded almost immediately, displaying a detailed sketch of a young girl with cropped hair, her face sprinkled with freckles. Neither pretty nor plain, she had an impish appeal and a gap where she was missing one of her upper lateral incisors. Her smile was wide but her eyes were tinged with melancholy.

"Angela, this is very good. The cranial ridges are faultless and you've correctly represented the appropriate distance between the zygomatic bone and the maxilla. Also the nasal bridge is concurrent with my measurements of the superciliary ridges. I am confident that this is a good representation of the victim." Brennan angled the screen so that Booth could see.

"I drew her smiling, even though she couldn't have had a very happy life from what we know so far." Angela's voice cracked, and she cleared her throat before continuing, "I've started entering all the parameters of the injuries into the graphics program and I should have some scenarios ready by the time you get back. By the way, exactly when will you be back?" Angela's tone shifted to become heavily probing.

Booth answered her, "Tomorrow night, or maybe the next day, depending what we find when we get there."

"Sooo -," She drew the word out and her voice took on a mischievous edge, "Where are you guys going to stay for this one or maybe two nights? I hope you've booked somewhere nice, Booth? Two rooms, right?"

"Jeez, give it up Angela," Booth couldn't look at his partner in the face of her friend's heavy handed hinting, "My office arranged all that – why don't you check with Charlie if you want the details?" His face wore a scowl, but his eyes were twinkling. He secretly enjoyed Angela's often slightly risqué needling about Bones and the status of their relationship. A quick sideways glance at his partner to check her reaction only revealed that she was absorbed in the image on the screen and wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. She seemed transfixed by it. He took another look at the picture displayed on Brennan's notebook and realised Angela had used some artistic licence in the rendering, "Hey, you've drawn her like Scout Finch!"

"Yeah" she replied, "I'm impressed that you got that reference, Booth. I couldn't get that character out of my head when I was finishing the picture off, so I gave her a 'chilli bowl' haircut and freckles." The conversation turned cheeky again, "So, you like old movies, hmm? And I know you like Chinese food. Tell me you like to walk on the beach in the rain and I'm all yours!" Angela loved to flirt with Booth. She thought of herself as a Brennan-substitute for him in that department, "You must be a romantic at heart."

"Through and through. And believe it or not I like to watch a movie that doesn't star the Governor of California occasionally." They both chuckled at that.

"What are you talking about?" Brennan chimed in, coming out of her reverie at the sound of their mirth.

"'_To Kill A Mockingbird'_? The old black and white movie starring Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch?" Booth explained. She still looked blank, "It's a classic!" he went on, "Scout was the little girl in the movie. That's who I think Angela's picture of our young victim looks like."

"I don't know who you mean." She said flatly. Something in her voice made Booth send her another look, this time one of concern.

"I'll leave that one to you, Booth," Angela said dryly, referring to having to explain non-anthropological references to Brennan yet again. She went on more seriously, returning to work topics "I've already started running the picture against the database of missing children. That could take a while – there are thousands, even after I've narrowed it down some geographically. Once the computer does its stuff, we may have something more specific that could be helpful. I'll let you know the minute I get a hit on the missing persons' database as well as when the Angelator is set up with scenarios that fit the evidence. That'll be ready by the time you get back." There was some background noise on the call and then they heard Angela stifle a chuckle.

"Hey Dr B," Jack Hodgins' voice unexpectedly came on the line, "Just got a result on one of the other tests I was running. I got some traces of ethanol from the clothing that are quite specific in type; it was produced biologically from the fermentation of various sugars from carbohydrates found in agricultural crops and cellulosic residues from crops or wood. I'm thinking corn or corn husks."

"Seriously?" Booth said, amusement ripe in his voice.

"What? Does that have some significance?" Brennan knew she was missing something.

"It's moonshine, baby, pure moonshine!" Hodgins mirth spilled over before Brennan severed the connection.

***************

The traffic thinned the further they drove from DC, but Brennan remained quiet, apparently lost in thought. Booth's phone emitted a series of random beeps that indicated an incoming text and he passed the phone to Brennan, "Check that for me would you, Bones?"

"It's from Charlie. Child Services have finally come back about your query. They say initial enquiries show no record of any reports of abuse that could relate to the victim. Charlie's added a comment; he says that unofficially the contact at Child Services is not surprised by that. The community in the area we suspect she may have come from are – he says – 'close knit' and highly suspicious of– Charlie uses the term "suits". What does that mean?" She had her face screwed up trying to work it out. Booth answered her brusquely,

"Anybody in a suit – you know, representatives of the Government."

She chortled, "Oh, you mean someone exactly like _you_? Maybe you should have stopped off and collected some 'man's things' after all?" She laughed outright at her bad joke. Booth scowled back at her.

Brennan went on, "Anthropologically speaking, that attitude of suspicion of external influences is very common amongst communities where close family relationships are dominant. We're heading into Appalachian country. The mores and traditions of that culture are reminiscent of earlier colonial American culture, and the small communities of rural Great Britain."

"Great Britain?" Booth was surprised.

"Mmm. A lot of the early settlers came from Scotland and Ireland and they remained isolated by distance and preference right up until the 1950's. There is a societal emphasis on egalitarianism, the strong belief in personal independence and individualism, clearly defined sex roles, a great regard for the rural life and the household within it, and a pervasive suspicion of urban things and people. Most of these local communities preserve their cultural uniqueness in their local attitudes, speech, kinship relationships, and a strongly felt, cohesive identity based upon a knowledge of positive distinction."

Booth was shaking his head, "So how does a little girl just vanish into thin air like that? If Child Services say they've got no records, then that includes children registered for both school and distance learning, nothing coming up on any central medical records, nothing on reports of abuse – and we know she was abused, no child support - nothing. It's incredible."

"Yes, it is disturbing. Angela's search disclosed thousands of hits on the missing persons' database on the general description of the victim. Once she's finished cross-referencing those files against the picture from the facial reconstruction we'll be able to narrow it down, Booth. Give it time."

"It's scary enough to think that so many kids go missing, let alone to discover the body of a child that nobody misses. It breaks my heart." Booth was appalled at the situation and it showed.

Brennan looked out the window, "You know the heart can't actually break, it's a muscle."

"Yeah, it can break, Bones." Booth said the words quietly, but with the power of conviction.

Brennan pressed her lips together as if it cost her to keep her thoughts to herself, and said softly, "Yeah, you're right, it can break."

***************

Press the little green button, guys, and tell me what you think! Heck, tell me anything you like, I'm up for a chat any time. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, there's another on the way soon.


	5. TreatFeet

Just a quick update to fix a glaring mistake ... thanks a2zmom!

Thanks to my reviewers … and those who added this story to their favourites or on alert! I really love getting your ideas and feedback – and knowing that you're out there!

And thanks once again to the perspicacious paxmundi who is such a huge help - I'd love it if you would read and review this chapter, then check out his story, "The Boy on the Mall". *Heart* you PM!

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [insert maniacal laughter here]!)

* * *

Chapter Five: Treat/Feet

* * *

Booth negotiated SUV along the steep track up to where two police cruisers were pulled off to one side. The shadows were lengthening and the sting of the afternoon heat had passed.

"There's the sheriff." Booth gave the uniformed man a nod of acknowledgment and the sheriff touched the brim of his hat in response, walking towards them as Booth pulled the handbrake on. "They found this place when they were on the trail of an escaped felon who'd been spotted locally. Apparently the tracking dogs followed his scent into the cave, which is where they found our victim's DNA. When the alarm bells started ringing they got in contact with us. The scene has been preserved since then."

"Did they capture the felon?"

"Oh yeah – he's back in custody at the Gilmer Federal Prison in Glenville. Claims he doesn't know anything about a little girl. We'll head over to the prison to interview him first thing in the morning." he promised grimly.

Lewis County Sheriff, Matt Hillyard, waited for Booth and Brennan to get out of the vehicle before extending his hand to Booth.

"Matt Hillyard." The two men shook hands. They were about the same height, and although Hillyard was stockier there was something appealing about his youthful good looks and ginger-tinged curls.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth. This is Dr Temperance Brennan." Matt Hillyard's eyes warmed as he took in Brennan's long legs. By the time he's reached her face he'd pretty much broken out into a sweat. "Ma'am. Pleased to meet y'all." His eyes remained fixed on hers while a slow smile spread over his features. Brennan returned his gaze neutrally, before Booth moved a foot or so to the left, effectively placing himself as a barrier between Brennan and the sheriff.

"You gotta scene to show us?" Booth's tone was cool and pure Philly, but Hillyard didn't seem to notice. He smiled good-naturedly and led them towards what appeared to be a sheer rock face. He gestured to a small opening in the rock almost obscured by brush. The deputy that had been guarding the entrance moved to one side.

"We haven't touched anything since the Bureau gave us the heads up that the site might be tied in with your case, but the handler and the dog went inside during the pursuit." Hillyard directed the information to Booth, but couldn't resist punctuating his delivery with quick glances at Brennan. "Apart from that I'm the only other person that's been in, just to collect the samples we sent to forensics." His accent lacked the twang that Booth had expected, and he assumed he wasn't born and bred in the area.

Brennan was donning her overalls, and gave him a considered look. "That will make my job a little easier, to know that you've followed protocol." Sheriff Hillyard beamed at her, "Of course it will also mean that you've contaminated at least some of the evidence. I hope we are still able to find something pertinent to our case and useful enough to establish an identity, and not waste too much time excluding your DNA." She turned away from him and pulled her hair back into a lopsided ponytail, ignoring Booth's strangled protest. "Bones! Easy on the locals." he hissed, for her ears only. She looked at him uncomprehendingly and grabbed some latex gloves, "What? It's true!" She shrugged and donned a LED lamp attached to a strap that circled her head, managing somehow not to look ridiculous.

The sheriff's smile faltered a little, but was reinstated when Booth cut in smoothly, "We wouldn't have known this place existed without the evidence you collected and. It's good you had the foresight to get it analysed promptly."

Brennan entered the cave, giving her eyes a moment to adjust before switching on the caver's lamp. She moved more fully into the space and stood quietly, absorbing as much detail as she could. Booth remained at the entrance, only his head and shoulders fitting comfortably through the low, narrow opening. His nose wrinkled at the musty smell, "Someone's been living here for quite a while – days, or do you think maybe weeks? Eating, sleeping, washing."

"Several weeks I would say." Brennan started methodically taking photos, the camera's flash creating frozen moments in the semi darkness of the cave as she catalogued the scene. Booth craned his neck to get a better look around the tiny space, taking in the neatly rolled clothes stacked on a sheet of newspaper and the broken-toothed comb set on top of the pile.

"A runaway then." Booth didn't pose it as a question; it was a logical assumption on the evidence they had so far.

"It's far too early to come to any conclusions but, yes, that is a definite possibility." Brennan put the camera carefully to one side and began to collect samples of hair, fibre and soil to send back to Hodgins, "There's plenty of trace here. It should be a simple matter to confirm whether or not it all belongs to our victim. I believe the hair is almost certainly from two people, though, even after discounting that which Hodgins identifies as canine. You can come in, I've got all I need for now."

Booth gingerly entered, grunting as he twisted his body to fit through the gap. "How did Hillyard get in here?" he muttered to himself. He crouched down to scrutinise the small stack of clothes more closely, while following through on what she'd just said, "Someone else was here with her? Maybe our perp? He befriends her, gains her trust somehow – she's vulnerable, we know she as badly treated by someone in her life." He handed Brennan a large evidence bag so she could seal the clothes safely away to be examined properly later at the lab.

Booth tried to straighten up but he bumped his head on the low ceiling, wincing as crumbs of dirt tumbled over his shoulders. Staying slightly hunched over he moved to the other side of the space where a piece of rough blanket was spread over a low pile of dried bracken and similar to form a crude mattress.

"Bones, the light." She stood beside him and directed the lamp to the ground. He bent down and examined some wax spots on the surface of a yellowed newspaper that had been laid next to the makeshift bed. The stump of a cheap candle lay on its side nearby. Using his pen to lift up the corner of the top layer, he saw that there were some pages from a child's reader placed carefully between the sheets of newspaper.

Brennan half kneeled to more closely examine some small items that had been carefully wrapped in plastic and placed on narrow shelf dug into the dirt wall near ground level.

"Look, Booth." He bent over her shoulder to get a closer look, until they were virtually cheek to cheek. His breath stirred a tendril of hair that had fallen loose from her ponytail and she shivered without knowing why, "Two barrettes – one pink, one green." Her voice was deeper than usual.

"Things a little girl would treasure." Booth added quietly, the sound directly in her ear. He kept his head level with hers and tried to read her expression, but she turned her face away and rose to her feet. She looked around the small area, observing perceptively. "She put them where she could find them in the dark – they were precious to her."

"Ow." Booth had straightened in surprise at the depth of emotion in her remark, knocking his head on the ceiling of the cave for the second time. He looked around him somewhat despondently.

"This is almost sadder than her actual body – at least her suffering was over then." Booth was agitated, his long legs itching to pace, but restricted by the size of the 'room' which measured about twelve feet by eighteen feet. "This reeks of her trying to stay alive in a world where she wasn't wanted." Brennan didn't comment, pressing her lips together in dismay at the picture his words painted.

It was fully darkby the time Brennan had finished gathering and cataloguing the contents of the cave and the Lewis County deputy had set up some portable lighting. A line of bagged items leaning haphazardly against each other cast exaggerated shadows against the outer wall; packed and ready to be forwarded to the Jeffersonian.

* * *

Brennan opened the door to her motel room at her partner's insistent knocking. They'd earlier eaten a pretty decent dinner at the roadhouse next to the motel before separating to change and shower off the dust of the afternoon.

"Hey, Bones, look what I got." Booth was holding a battered video case in the air, barely able to contain his glee. He moved past her into the room, "'_To Kill A Mockingbird'_. Can you believe it? It was either this or an instructional video on fly fishing. Wanna watch it?" Brennan took the video from him and examined it. She smiled her approval, passing it back to him.

"You really never heard of it?" He asked sceptically. She shook her head, and he went on, "The Harper Lee novel – you didn't do that in school?"

"Not that I recall – but then, my interest was more inclined to the sciences. I think we did 'The Grapes of Wrath' one year, but I don't remember this one."

"Well, Bones, maybe I can improve youreducation tonight." His eyes slid away from hers as he realised the unintended double meaning his words held, but she remained unaware of any other interpretation.

The motel that Charlie had booked was about forty miles out of Weston, the county seat. It didn't run to a VCR in each room, and as Brennan had what was euphemistically called the "Executive Suite" which included an ancient video player as well as a television, Booth invited himself in and set up the movie. Brennan took a seat at the tiny desk, her notes spread out over the scratched surface, but Booth kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the bed with his back propped against the headboard, surrounding himself with a six pack of light beer and every variety of potato chip and salty snack that was available from the vending machine in the motel office.

"C'mon, Bones, we both need to wind down or this case will do a number on our heads." When she hesitated he went on, "I won't bite." _Unless you ask nicely_. He banished those thoughts with a rueful shake of his head and patted the coverlet beside him. She got up and took the beer he held out for her with a murmur of thanks. Brennan stood irresolute while the video was running through previews for _'The Breakfast Club' _and _'Back to the Future'_. She remembered the latter movie fondly, and the memory eased her self-consciousness. She seemed to shrug off her diffidence when she flicked off the overhead light and turned on the desk lamp. Gathering up a couple of extra pillows from the closet, she stretched out on her stomach beside him, top to tail with her head at the base of the bed, unaware of how provocative his view had suddenly become. Booth closed his eyes for a second and took a long draught of his beer. "There you go, _much_ more comfortable." Brennan was oblivious to the irony in his voice. He watched her take a tentative sip of the cold beer, and then twist her head slightly so that she could take a deeper gulp from the bottle, unconsciously mimicking his own actions of a moment ago. He saw the tension drain from her shoulders by the light of the flickering television screen.

"Are you going to tell me what upset you so much about Angela's drawing of our victim?" He asked gently. Brennan sunk her head onto the mattress; she shouldn't be surprised any more by his perceptiveness. When she didn't answer straight away, he grabbed her foot and wiggled it, trying to prompt a response.

"C'mon, 'fess up." he encouraged, the video and its garish previews forgotten for the moment.

She rolled onto her back and propped herself up on her elbows. Without meeting his eyes, she blurted, "It could have been me at that age."

"What are you talking about?" He was genuinely mystified.

"The picture, it could have been me. It made me remember what it felt like to be that age and wanted by no-one; whether if I had just disappeared anyone would have gone looking for me." At that she raised her eyes and met his gaze unblinkingly. Booth's heart missed a beat at the hurt he saw reflected there as she revisited a time in her life when she had no-one and was just part of the system. His hand found her foot again and he absently massaged it, not really aware of what he was doing, just needing to console her in some way. Brennan watched his hands moving over her ankle and felt a comforting warmth start to spread through her. Their eyes met without awkwardness and they exchanged a small smile. Booth laid his hand back on the coverlet and the moment passed.

"Besides, it actually did look like me." Brennan added matter-of-factly.

Booth guffawed at that, "Don't give me that! Temperance, that picture looks nothing like you – you're beautiful – gorgeous." Booth quickly pressed his lips together, afraid he'd said too much, revealed too much.

Brennan rolled her eyes, "I was a real Ugly Duckling at that age; an overbite, really clumsy, masses of freckles, hair that never stayed in place and my ears stuck out. Add that to my level of social incompetence and an overwhelming obsession with learning and you get a pretty unattractive and unpopular package." She paused, her lips twisting wryly. "My ears still stick out." She sat up, pulling her legs towards her so that she could balance cross legged and twisted so that she was slightly in profile. She artlessly lifted her hair away from her neck to show him, "See?" All Booth could see was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, would ever know. She sat there waiting for his confirmation, but he was bereft of speech. Just as Brennan's half-smile started to fade into uncertainty, he found his voice, forcing a lightness that he wasn't really feeling.

"Of course they stick out, if they didn't you wouldn't be able to hear properly because sounds wouldn't be able to get to the auditory nerve for processing." Brennan couldn't help her sceptical look at Booth's grasp of the facts.

"I'm full of surprises, Bones, you have no idea how much I know about all sorts of things." he bragged, then gave her a sheepish look, "That, and I help Parker with his homework a lot – they've just started biology and I read up a bit. So I might not be 'smarter than a fifth grader', but I'm holding my own!" His remark was self deprecating, and although Brennan didn't get the allusion to the TV show, she understood he was trying to distract her and make her smile like he always did when she was down.

"I'm pretty sure I know exactly how smart you are." Her mood suddenly lifted, and she leaned towards him, pinching his arm like a ten year old with a crush, and laughing without reserve at his reaction.

"Ow – get off!" He pushed her lightly, back against the headboard, "Watch the movie – you might learn something." He opened two more bottles and handed Brennan one. She was watching him steadily, her lips twitching around a smile.

"Wha-at?" Booth couldn't help being wary of her current mood, although it was a relief to see the sadness gone from her eyes.

She dropped her eyes and watched the bubbles rise to the neck of the bottle she held, "This is nice."

Booth knew she didn't mean the beer, and suddenly they were grinning at each other like naughty school children.

"Yeah, Bones. It is."

Brennan rolled back onto her stomach as the opening credits for the movie appeared on the small screen.

* * *

You know what you really want to do … go on press the button and leave a review, I dare you! ;D


	6. Pounding the mire

A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting. I had a bit of a crisis over one of my plot bunnies but have taken some excellent advice (well deserved thanks as always to PM for getting me back on track. "_Oh Captain, my Captain"!_) and this chapter has undergone a fairly major re-write. And of course there was my minific "Four Days" that was insistently beating against my brain to get out and get written and couldn't be placated!

If you haven't already seen them, please have a look at the two great stories pax mundi is currently working on; "Boy on the Mall" and "The Principal in the Man" – you have a treat in store!

Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)

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Chapter Six: Pounding the mire …

Booth was leaning against the driver's door of the SUV as Brennan strode along the outside corridor from her room towards him, her overnight bag on her shoulder. He let his eyes wander over her lazily, liking the way she moved; graceful but with energetic purpose. He thought over what she had said last night about similarities between herself and Angela's drawing of the young victim – he still found it hard to believe that someone with Brennan's megawatt beauty had such basic insecurities. He'd always thought that was reserved for mere mortals like him. She put on some long dangly earrings without missing a step, the weak sunlight catching on one of them and glinting back at him.

The temperature had plummeted overnight and the morning was bordering on icy. As he followed her progress, Brennan pulled her light jacket more snugly around her body to try and keep out the chill. Booth leaned into the truck and started the ignition, flicking the heater to the max.

At the sound of the engine turning over, Brennan looked up, sending Booth a faintly apologetic smile, and she adjusted her direction to make a beeline directly towards him. He pushed himself away from the vehicle and headed around the hood to open the passenger door for her.

As she settled herself into the seat he handed her a paper bag and a cup of coffee. Brennan bit eagerly into the still warm bagel, alternating each bite with a sip of hot coffee. Booth watched her with a smile,

"You alright there, Bones? Geez, if I'd known you were starving we could have made time for a proper breakfast. I'm sure I saw a sign for Biscuit World around here somewhere." He was only half joking – he loved Biscuit World biscuits.

Brennan just smiled around the mouthful she was chewing, "This is exactly what I wanted." She drained the last of the coffee. "Hadn't we better get moving though? If we're lucky we might be able to get back to DC tonight."

Booth frowned, "You got somewhere you have to be?" _Was she dating again?_

"No, only I'd rather not spend another night in that bed. I think each of my vertebrae need individual adjustment." She arched her back and twisted back and forth to get some relief. Booth gunned the engine, his good humour mysteriously restored, and headed out of the motel forecourt.

"May I have another look at Burbridge's file?" She wanted to familiarise herself with the man they were about to interview.

"Gareth Burbridge, twenty seven years old, serving three to five for extortion, fraud and bribery." Booth handed her what he had, "He fleeced an old age pensioner with a roofing scam and then tried to bribe his way out of it. There's nothing in the file to suggest that we may be dealing with someone who has a history of violence. Affluent family, college educated, no priors. It says here he escaped via a delivery truck. Not very original, but apparently effective. Bet some heads rolled for that."

"What does that mean, 'heads rolled'?" Brennan looked perplexed.

"Someone may well have lost their job over a mistake like that." Booth explained.

"But what's that got to do with rolling your head?" Booth tried to stop his eyes rolling, but failed.

"Not rolling your head, heads rolling - like on a guillotine." She was still looking blankly at him. "Never mind." He indicated the file she held with an upwards nod, "Anything jump out at you?"

"Is he local?" Brennan went back to checking the file again for any other information that might help her participate meaningfully in the interview.

"What are you thinking, apart from the possibility that he already knew about the cave where we found our DNA evidence?"

"It may help me gauge any dominant cultural attitudes that could have affected his behaviour." She twisted her mouth to one side, considering the possibilities.

Booth related what he'd read in the file earlier, "He went to Glenville County High School for a year then transferred to a boarding school in Wheeling, college at UVA and set up his shingle in Charlottesville." Booth had taken an apple out of another paper bag and was crunching away. Brennan wrinkled her nose appreciatively at the fresh scent of the fruit and gave Booth an optimistic look. "Do you have another one of those?"

Booth shook his head. He took another quick bite and automatically handed the apple to Brennan. She contemplated the firm white flesh with a frown. "Shingle?" She took a huge mouthful, juice threatening to run down her chin. Booth was transfixed by her actions. He tried to ignore the distinctly unpartnerly thoughts that had leapt to the centre of his brain at the sight, resolutely keeping his eyes fixed on the road.

"Mmm-hmm. He's a qualified accountant, used to have an office in Charlottesville. There's nothing on the file to indicate why he wasn't still practising before his arrest or why everything apparently went south for him." Brennan passed the apple back to him and he stared the marks her teeth had left, before he took another bite, obliterating the marks with his own. For a moment the only sound in the car was crunching as they passed the apple back and forth.

"Anything else in that bag?" Brennan tried to reach past Booth to the brown paper bag in the side pocket of the door.

"Bones – stop it!" He slapped her hand away from near his waist, laughing at the disappointment on her face. "I'm trying to drive here. There's some candy in the pocket of my leather jacket in the back. What's with you this morning?"

* * *

Gilmer Federal Prison was nestled in a valley between twin peaks only three or four miles from the town of Glenville. A medium security facility housing around fifteen hundred male offenders, it was double fenced with an electronic detection system. The complex was mostly cell-type housing and the high staff-to-inmate ratio was plainly evident. Although it was barely 8:00am, there was plenty of activity.

Booth pulled up at the outer gate, showing his ID and they were waved through to the second perimeter, where six or seven inmates were scattered around the car park and general visitor area, indolently raking leaves or picking up trash. Each of them stopped what they were doing to follow the SUV's progress. Booth parked up outside the main entrance of the building, quickly exiting he truck and joining Bones on the steps.

"Stay close till we get inside." His hand was in place at the small of her back and he shepherded her through the main doors, their progress followed by catcalls and bawdy suggestions. "You all right there, Bones?"

"They're only words, Booth." Brennan was dismissive of the inmates' behaviour. "One wasn't even physically possible."

He pressed his hand more firmly at her waist, "Doesn't matter, just stay close anyway."

They went through four levels of security before they were shown into the interview room. Burbridge was already there, handcuffed to the table. When they sat down, the guard excused himself, reassuring them that he would be just outside the door if he was needed.

Once he'd set eyes on the prisoner, Booth doubted they'd need to call on the guard for help. Burbridge was a slight man, no more than five foot four inches tall, with narrow shoulders and pale watery eyes. His sandy blonde hair was thin and hung limply over the collar of his prison jumpsuit. Brennan recognised a mild case of Graves' Disease or hyperthyroidism in the permanently startled expression he had turned towards the partners when they first entered the room. He had a prominent Adam's apple that kept bobbing up and down as he swallowed nervously, waiting for their questions to start.

Booth slapped the file he held onto the table top with a sharp crack and Burbridge's whole body trembled in response.

"My name is Booth, I'm with the FBI. This is Dr Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute. What can you tell me about the murder of a young girl whose DNA was found in the cave you used as a hideout?"

Burbridge's eyebrows shot up, "Murder? I don't know anything about a murder." His brow was already sheened with sweat, even though it was cold in the interview room. "Why are you asking me about a murder?" His voice wavered on the last word.

Booth leaned forward, adding emphasis to his words. "You were there, in the cave. The same place we know our victim was. A little girl, Burbridge, a little girl who some freak decided to torture and kill."

Burbridge was shaking his head from side to side, "There wasn't anyone else there, just a few pieces of clothing and other stuff scattered around. I had no idea anyone else had been there, I assumed it was just trash left by the kids. I swear I don't know anything about a murder."

"How did you know the cave was there in the first place?" Brennan interjected.

"I grew up around here. The hills are dotted with caverns and fissures." He ran a finger across his forehead, wiping away the moisture that had gathered there.

Booth looked thoughtful, "You said _'the'_ kids. What did you mean?"

Burbridge went pale, suddenly acutely agitated. "That cave is one that we used to use as kids for a meeting place. There are two or three others right near. I guess I just assumed it's still used by the local kids for the same purpose. Things like that tend to get around by word of mouth, I reckon. I mean, I know there was one there that used to be a kind of club house in my daddy's time as well."

Booth's eyes narrowed, it was obvious that Burbridge was concealing something about the cave's various former uses, even though on the surface his answer seemed open enough. He let it drop for the moment, opening the file to ostensibly refer to his notes. He sat back, his pose relaxed, a quizzical half smile prefacing his next question, "You're a qualified accountant. I don't get it - what's with the roofing scam?"

Burbridge looked shamefaced. He hesitated, flicking Booth another look, then the story spilled out in a rush of words. "I just couldn't cut it in business. My folks sent me to The Linsly School in Ohio County after I got into some trouble when I was a kid. No-one fails at that school. One hundred per cent graduation guaranteed. I eventually got my grades up and got into the University of Virginia. Accountancy was as good as anything else. But I really didn't like it, my heart wasn't in it. I got to drinking, lost all my clients and my folks decided to withdraw their financial help. Without that, everything collapsed." His shoulders had slumped even further while he was recounting his failure. "I'm mortified by what I did. I'll take my time, I deserve to be punished. Maybe one day …" His voiced trailed off.

Brennan and Booth exchanged glances. Neither of them really considered this man a suspect for the murder. But Booth was convinced he could tell them something more.

"Did you have help when you made your escape?" Brennan asked. Booth leaned forward for the answer, hoping that if he did he'd name someone local.

Burbridge shook his head slowly, "Nah, that was pure chance. I don't even know why I tried. I saw the opportunity and acted on impulse."

"What sort of trouble did you get into to make your parents change your school?" Booth honed in on the way Burbridge had glossed over this point earlier.

Burbridge's head shot up and wariness masked his features. He eyes slid away from Booth's direct stare. "Usual kind. Got in with a bad crowd."

"Anyone in particular?" Booth asked, keeping his tone neutral. Burbridge raised one shoulder in an offhanded shrug, and wouldn't be drawn by any of Booth's next questions, prevaricating instead of answering openly. Booth brought the interview to a close with the promise that they'd be back if his name came up in the investigation in any context whatsoever.

When they got outside, the sun's brightness had strengthened and the air was warmer, burning off the light cloud cover that they'd woken to. Booth handed Brennan into the SUV before he took his seat at the wheel, but didn't start the engine immediately.

"What is it? Is your gut talking to you again?" She could tell that he was mulling something over; he was preoccupied with his keys and kept turning them over in his hands.

"Uh-huh. I think we're going to have to hang around town a little longer than we thought. Let's go visit the sheriff."

* * *

Matt Hillyard's office was located in the Municipal Centre, an ugly red brick building two storeys high. Opposite was a small square which boasted a dry, dusty fountain encircled by a few sad looking rhododendrons, the State flower.

Booth pulled the SUV up in front of the sheriff's office, which had a door opening directly onto the street. Venetian blinds shielded the interior, but movement could be discerned behind the blinds. A bell tinkled as they entered the office. Sheriff Hillyard came to the counter himself, a sheaf of papers clutched untidily in his right hand. When he recognised his visitors, his mouth widened in a huge smile, directed at Brennan. He looked fresh and shiny and younger somehow this morning.

"Dr Brennan, a pleasure to see you again! Agent Booth." The men exchanged nods of greeting. Hillyard put down the papers, opening up the hatch on the front counter to give them access to his office.

"Come through, ma'am. I've just put a pot of coffee on – can I offer you some?"

"That'd be very welcome." She made herself comfortable on one of the chairs in front of his desk. He held the pot up to Booth, wordlessly making the same offer. When Booth declined with a shake of his head, Hillyard poured two cups, handing one to Brennan and keeping hold of one for himself. Instead of moving behind his desk, he claimed the chair beside Brennan, leaving Booth standing. Booth eyed the sheriff narrowly, who returned the look with a bland smile. Using his arm to sweep several files away from the edge, Booth perched himself on the desk, letting his long legs create a barrier between the two chairs. Brennan apparently remained oblivious of the contest taking place in front of her.

"Now, what can I do for you folks?"

"We need some background information about your recent escapee, Gareth Burbridge. I understand he grew up around here?"

Hillyard had reached behind him and pulled a box of mini muffins from the bookshelf. He offered it to Brennan, who took her time choosing one. When she finally settled for a blueberry one, she looked up to find Booth giving her one of his _"Are you for real?_" looks. Her hand paused halfway to her mouth, and her eyes flicked between Booth and the muffin. She bit into the sugar dusted cake, savouring the treat.

Hillyard watched her for a moment, enjoying the view, before he answered, "The Burbridge family were like local royalty. They're well known, but not well-liked. The family has been in the region for generations; they made their money in coal, the biggest employer for miles. But they changed their mining methods in the mid-nineties and they concentrated more on surface mining. Nowadays it's a fairly common method of extracting coal in this region. It involves blowing off the top of a mountain to reach the seam beneath. It's been going on in the south of the State and parts of Kentucky since the late seventies. The impact on employment in the area and the environment generally is devastating. A lot of residents are bringing lawsuits and launching local campaigns to save their piece of Appalachia. The family picked up stakes and moved to Charleston a few years ago. I guess they couldn't stand the animosity their methods generated."

"Anthropologically that would create a crisis in the local community." Brennan licked the last of the sugar off her fingers before continuing, "The most efficient society is predicated upon a simple hierarchy, regardless of the individual circumstances. Removal of the perceived head of a society, in this case the Burbridge family, whether their influence is good or bad, is destabilising to a community. Sheriff Hillyard - "

"Matt, please." Booth rolled his eyes as Brennan artless smile unconsciously encouraged the sheriff.

"Er – Matt, have petty crime statistics risen exponentially since the departure of the Burbridge family from the area?"

"Off the grid. We're getting statistics that would look more typical in an urban environment. And the types of crimes are atypical for rural area – petty theft, vandalism and graffiti for instance. Country folk are generally very trusting people within their own community, they typically depend on their neighbours to get them through tough times, and the rise in these type of crimes hits them at the basis of their social mores and beliefs. Families in this region in particular are as close as can be, and most of their neighbours are related in some way."

Brennan's smile was warm, "You have a good grasp of some basic anthropological concepts, Matt."

Hillyard preened a little, "I try." Booth turned his head away and muttered under his breath, "Yeah, you're very trying." Hillyard continued, unaware of the other man's comment. "Violent crimes have increased as well, ahead of the national average."

Booth's interest was piqued, "What sort of violent crimes?"

"Mostly the less serious category of assaults, although not your usual bar room brawl type of thing. It's been more targeted. Interestingly, the number of animal cruelty cases has skyrocketed as well. There's an element in this town that like to stir up trouble, and the ringleader is just plain mean. He's just served a stretch for assault."

"Who are we talking about?" Booth pushed himself away from the desk, his interest now actively engaged.

Hillyard stood and went to the filing cabinet, extracting a thick buff file with a plastic display sleeve attached to the exterior. He passed it to Booth, who leaned forward to give Brennan a better view of the offender's picture on the cover. The photo was of a young man with jet black hair, cropped almost military style, and eyes the colour of coal. His was smiling insolently at the camera.

"Ethan Williams, aka 'Hank', after the country music icon I suppose. Young Ethan really is a nasty piece of work, but the six month stretch he just did is his first incarceration. I doubt it will be his last. He's fitted a whole lot into his twenty three years. He's still just a kid in lots of ways, really."

Booth passed the file back to the sheriff, after scanning the record sheet on the top of the spike and making a note of the address, "I think we might pay Hank here a visit." He tapped the photo, "Can we get a copy of this? Is this "Plaisters Row" nearby?" Brennan got to her feet as well, sensing that Booth was now eager to be on his way.

"It's in the backblocks, over yonder near the north mine." Hillyard gave them detailed directions, moving towards the reception area with them. A white haired stocky woman in her late sixties was now manning the front desk. She looked up smilingly when she heard the sheriff's voice. He passed her the file, "Arlene, can you make a copy of the photo for me please."

He turned to his visitors, making introductions while Arlene made herself busy at the copier. "This is Arlene, the font of all local knowledge and without whom this office would fall apart. Arlene, this is Special Agent Booth from the FBI and Dr Brennan, who I told you about."

"Pleased to meet you." Arlene reached out and shook their hands enthusiastically. "If there's anything else I can help you with, just ask."

Booth smiled widely back at her, charming her immediately. "Any insights on Gareth Burbridge or Ethan Williams, Arlene?"

The woman's face darkened perceptibly. "Both of them are trouble, right enough, although young Gareth ain't mean and spiteful like the Williams boy. Gareth was always a weak willed boy, easily led, that's his family's cross to bear for sure. The whole Williams clan is another animal entirely. Don't trust any of them as far as I can spit."

"Did they associate with each other growing up?" Brennan asked. Arlene thoughtfully scratched her chin.

"I don't reckon they did, there's just enough years between them to keep them apart, and then Mr Burbridge always tried to keep a tight rein on his boy. There was something happened when Gareth was a young un'. The family packed him off to some fancy school lickety split, and nobody really ever knew why." She raked through her memory for a few seconds, but finally shook her head. "Nope, can't remember any details. If it comes to me I'll let you know."

"Well, thanks for that anyway, Arlene." Booth smiled warmly at the woman. "C'mon, Bones, let's get this show on the road." He put his hand at the small of Brennan's back as they took their leave. Sheriff Hillyard followed them out on to the pavement.

"If you're still in town tonight, I'd be pleased if you'd join me for dinner. You too, Agent Booth. We've got one or two outstanding restaurants and Gilmer County's hollows and hills are home to a variety of hidden treasures." Hillyard's open face mirrored his eagerness to extend Brennan's acquaintance.

Booth opened the SUV and handed Brennan up into the truck before she had time to respond. He closed the door, turning to Hillyard.

"I'm sure there are, but we'll be tied up with the case. You know how it is; paperwork, reports." As he circled the vehicle and got into the driver's seat, Hillyard stepped up to the passenger door and Brennan lowered the window to better hear him.

"Maybe Agent Booth could look after the paperwork and give you the night off, Dr Brennan?"

Brennan chuckled derisively, "Agent Booth doesn't decide my schedule, but I doubt we'll be here. We'll probably head back to DC tonight if we can get away at a decent hour. But thank you for the invitation."

Booth leaned over her and interrupted, "Yeah, okay, gotta go – thanks for your help." He put the truck into gear and raised Brennan's window from the central controls on his door. He pulled away, leaving Hillyard to deal with his disappointment any way he liked.

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I'd love it if you'd review and tell me what you think,

Happy Holidays, everyone! Cheers, 2BB


	7. Fast or Slow

A/N: A gazillion thanks to my dear beta, paxmundi who I've decided to adopt and make my sole heir (sorry, hon, the credit cards are maxed and we owe more on the house than its worth, but, eh, it's the thought that counts!)

Still haven't checked out the two great stories he's currently working on; "Boy on the Mall" (chapter 14 already up) and "The Principal in the Man" (chapter 2 on its way)??? What are you waiting for??!!! ;P

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

* * *

Chapter Seven: Fast or Slow

* * *

"All I'm saying is this case is difficult enough without doing the horizontal hula with Matt Dillon back there." Booth's mouth was drawn in a tight line of irritation.

"The sheriff's name is Hillyard, Booth, and the invitation was for dinner. No mention was made of any sort of dancing." Brennan fixed her clear blue grey eyes on him, "It was a straightforward invitation. In fact he asked us both. I don't understand why you're so annoyed with me."

Booth shrugged, discomfited by the directness of her gaze, "I'm not annoyed with you, Bones. I just don't want things to get -" he swallowed convulsively, "complicated. We need to concentrate on the case."

"I am not having any trouble concentrating on the case, Booth." She was affronted by his suggestion and he knew it, "Besides, as I told Sheriff Hillyard, we should be back in DC by tonight. You can go dancing there if you feel so inclined."

"What? No, I don't want to go dancing. What makes you think _I_ want to go dancing?"

"I thought you wanted to learn the hula, although it does seem an odd thing for you to bring up right now. Anthropologically speaking the ancient hula kahiko is one of the most culturally significant and unique religious ritual dances of the Polynesian region. In ancient times students of the dance could not engage in sex nor eat certain foods while they were learning - "

"That's fascinating, Bones, but when I said 'hula' I didn't mean actual 'hula'.

"That makes no sense, Booth."

"I meant – you know – the _horizontal_ _hula_." Booth raised his eyebrows suggestively, putting extra emphasis on the last two words, and bringing his hands together on the steering wheel in a graphic display underlining his meaning. Brennan stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, before her brow cleared as she realised what he was trying to say.

"Ohhh – you mean Sheriff Hillyard wants to have sex with me."

"Bones!" Booth's tone was acutely uncomfortable. "Why are you always so ... so .."

"What?" she replied, laughing at the expression on his face. "Why is calling sex 'sex' less acceptable than using euphemisms that are prone to misinterpretation?"

"Just forget it Bones. We've got a job to do." He stuck out his chin and turned his attention back to the road.

Brennan pressed her lips together in irritation, her nose wrinkling delicately. "You started it." She said under her breath, not quite loud enough for Booth to hear.

Silence reigned in the vehicle for a minute or two until the strident tone of the phone cut through the atmosphere.

Brennan looked at the display, "It's Hodgins." She put the phone on speaker.

"Hey, Dr B, I've got some results on the evidence that you sent us last night. There were a number of different blood samples; we've had a match for two so far, one for our victim and one off CODIS for an Ethan Williams, convicted of assault and recently released from Gilmer Federal Prison."

The partners exchanged surprised glances. Brennan spoke first, "Ethan Williams? We're on our way out to talk to him now."

Booth's tone was grim. "Looks like we're on the right track, Bones."

"Hodgins, there was no obvious blood at the scene - " Brennan's voice reflected her perplexity.

"Yeah, the samples we found were minute, and many were degraded so it was difficult to get anything from them apart from the fact that most weren't human, they were from a range of animals. Some canine, some feline and some wild species. There was a largish sample of good old _neotoma pennsylvanica Stone_, aka the Allegheny Cliff Rat_, _West Virginia's only native rat. We also had hair and fur samples that support those findings. Do you want me to list them all?"

Brennan frowned, "Send the information to my PDA, there may be something of significance in the detail. Can you also cc a copy to my lab email so that I've got it on my computer tomorrow?"

"No problem." Hodgins continued, "A lot of the samples were too old to get any anything off them apart from identifying them as blood." They heard a loud metallic clunk in the background and Hodgins' voice was slightly muffled as he turned away to speak to someone behind him. "Dude, will you watch what you're doing with that!" His voice when he turned back to the phone echoed his irritation, "Zack's still playing with pieces of metal grille trying to work out what caused the burn patterns on the clothing."

"I do not play." Zack's voice came at them from a distance, although his tone remained steady and reasonable.

Hodgins raised his voice, "And if he's not careful he'll find himself _wearing_ some of them."

Booth had no problem visualising the two friends squabbling as another crash of falling metal blasted through the phone, "Can we get back on subject?" he intoned dryly, reminding the scientist that they were waiting for him to continue.

"Sorry. One thing, it looks like someone spilled or splashed some sort of soft drink around, cola to be exact – it was on over half of the samples. That stuff will degrade anything. Y'know, there's a well established theory that a certain well known cola drink contains an ingredient developed by the US government designed to manipulate consumer purchasing patterns. It's even been proven that - "

"Yeah right, okay Hodgins." Booth cut him off, not in the mood for one of entomologist's rants.

"Many people underestimate the cultural significance of purchasing patterns in the modern world." Brennan chimed in. Booth spun his head around to her, incredulity written all over his face.

"_Bones_ – focus, will you? And don't encourage him." He turned back to the phone, "Hodgins, what else did you get?"

"We-ell, Zack confirmed the presence of streaming nuclei in the bone cells suggesting voltage passed through the body, which goes along with our theory that the victim had been tortured. There were several matches to the samples collected from the scene at Front Royal … of the samples were indicated … " Hodgins voice started to crack up, "… identical microscopic … battery terminal … traces of … so far … a match on one of the hair samples …" The phone went dead. Brennan dialled the lab and Hodgins voice came on the line briefly before dropping out again. Booth pulled over on the verge and glanced around, noting the hills that now towered over them on both sides of the road, "Looks like we're heading into an area without a signal. Leave it a few minutes and we'll try again." They'd been on the move for about thirty minutes, and the road had narrowed and become increasingly twisting, winding back on itself several times.

"It's interesting that Hodgins found so much blood that wasn't visible to the naked eye; I didn't suspect that it was there." She sounded put out, as if the find was something she felt should have been aware of. "Sheriff Hillyard said there'd been an increase in animal cruelty cases. Do you think it's possible that the cave is the 'killing site' where those acts took place?"

"Maybe we're talking some sort of satanic ritual sacrifice?" Booth ran with the idea. "Maybe our victim got caught up with that - devil worshippers, witches and warlocks, the whole shebang. That might explain the different types of injuries that your people turned up?"

Brennan contemplated the idea for a second, before shaking her head. "No. There was nothing ritualistic about the way the body was displayed when it was found, nor was there any evidence at the cave that could support that premise. I don't believe there was anything ritualistic about this death."

"What do you think Hodgins was getting at before the line dropped out? He mentioned the battery again – can we assume she was electrocuted?" Booth looked thoughtful, and Brennan could almost see the ideas bouncing around his brain.

"You mean electric shock. I don't believe that electrocution was the cause of death – there would have been specific indicators - but I believe we can safely hypothesise from the evidence we have that she suffered an electric shock of some description a short while prior to her death. Other than that, there is absolutely no value in speculating on what Hodgins may or may not have found. We should wait until we can speak to him properly before coming to any conclusions."

"Yeah, I know how much you hate to speculate, Bones, but he's established a strong connection between the cave and the site where the victim was found at Front Royal. This is important. Up until now all we've had was the victim's trace DNA at the cave and the signs that we found that she may have been living there before her death. Now we know not only that she was there, but that she suffered some sort of injury there because of the blood Hodgins found, _and_ that Ethan Williams was there as well." Booth pulled out the simple map that Hillyard had sketched for them, looking up and down the road pensively. "Does this road look familiar to you Bones?"

Brennan glanced around her, "Not really. The topography of this region all looks very similar. The area around the cave where we found the evidence, for example, was almost identical."

"That's what I mean. I know we approached it from a different direction, but I'm sure we're near that spot."

"How far are we from Williams' home?" Brennan was ferreting around in her bag, finally pulling out a bottle of headache tablets.

"About five or ten minutes, by my calculations." He checked his watch; it was almost 3:00pm and the hot dog he'd grabbed from the stand at the edge of town had barely taken the edge off his hunger. Brennan had lectured him on his over consumption of preservatives as usual, but after her non-stop grazing that morning, he'd half expected her to grab something for herself. Instead she'd turned green around the gills at the thought. Now he looked the bottle in her hand. "Are you OK Bones? You coming down with something?" Brennan was never ill; your common or garden variety bugs wouldn't dare breach that particular citadel.

"Yeah, I'm fine, just a headache." He reached over onto the back seat and produced a bottle of cool water, watching her with concern as he passed it to her.

"Is it your back – you said earlier it was sore from that crappy mattress?" She shook her head, pulling a face as she washed the pills down. He leaned closer, his eyes anxious as he examined her face more closely. "You do look a little flushed." He placed his hand on her forehead, testing her temperature; she was hot. "Jeez, you're burning up!"

Brennan tolerated his touch for a moment, before pulling away impatiently. "That is a very inexact method of collecting data."

"It works just fine, as any parent will tell you. Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling okay? We'll just go and see what this Williams kid has got to say for himself and then I'll get you back to DC." He started the ignition hurriedly, surprised when she gently squeezed his hand where it rested on the steering wheel.

"Booth, I'm absolutely fine, there's no need to fuss. Just give those pills a chance to take effect and I'll be one hundred and ten per cent."

Booth's hand stilled on the ignition and he gave her an odd look, "You know there's nothing more than one hundred percent, don't you Bones?" _What was wrong with her_?

Brennan frowned, then laughed at herself. "Of course there isn't, I was being facetious." But she frowned again, averting her face from his searching eyes and smothered a sigh. "Come on, Booth, let's get this _play_ on the _highway_." She turned back to him with one eyebrow raised sardonically and he realised this time she was pulling his leg, mocking his earlier use of the colloquial expression. Reassured, he pulled back out onto the roadway, looking for the turnoff that would take them to their destination.

A short while later, the SUV pulled up in front of a rundown house, dilapidated outbuildings set down haphazardly around it. Brennan looked around; poverty and apathy had sculpted this particular landscape. A puppy yapped from somewhere nearby. The bright sunshine had been swallowed by heavy purple clouds; a storm was close and the sultry air promised rain.

Booth was out of the car before she had moved. "Stay here, Bones, we don't know what we're facing here yet. If Williams is part of this, I don't want you anywhere near him." He checked his weapon before glancing over at her, expecting an argument, but the look she gave him was resigned.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asked with mild resentment, finally showing a bit of the spark he expected from her.

"You're the anthropologist – observe the culture." She didn't respond to his old joke, instead she nodded wearily, running a hand over her eyes. "Why don't you try the lab again?"

"Good idea." She looked at the phone's display and pulled a face. "Still no signal." Booth hesitated while he tucked his weapon back into its holster, searching her face again. She really wasn't herself and the sooner they got back to DC the better.

He approached the house cautiously, making sure his jacket fell loose around his torso. If he needed his gun he wanted easy access. He half turned his head, his mouth open to make a comment to his partner before he remembered she wasn't at his back as usual. A quick look at the SUV revealed her resting with her head on the back of the seat, eyes closed. She opened her eyes then, as if sensing his gaze on her, and smiled serenely. He shot her a quick grin, turning back to the house. As he put his foot on the first step, the screen door creaked open and a tall thin woman came out to meet him, suspicion in her eyes and a scowl marring what once must have been striking features.

"Whadda ya want, mister?" She wiped her hands on a grubby towel, looking him up and down insolently.

Booth showed her his badge. "I'm looking for Ethan Williams. Is he here – I'd like to speak to him please?" She squinted at the gold insignia, raising one side of her mouth contemptuously.

In answer, she raised her voice and yelled, "Joey! Git here." Without another word she turned and went back into the house, letting the screen door slam behind her. Booth found himself alone on the stoop. A sound from behind the closed doors of a shed about fifty yards behind the house grabbed his attention; glass breaking, followed by a muffled curse. His eyes flicked around, nothing in the near vicinity causing him concern, and headed towards the sound. Before he'd taken half a dozen paces, sidestepping numerous empty peach cans scattered on the ground, the doors opened. A desiccated looking man in his early forties came out, a paroxysm of coughing doubling him over. He rested his hands on his knees for a moment, vainly trying to get fresh air into his lungs. Still coughing, he scrabbled to close the doors, hooking a large padlock through the latch and snicking it closed. He looked over at the approaching agent, his eyes cold and calculating before he pasted a simpering smile on his face. He pulled a crumpled handkerchief from the pocket of his jeans and wiped at his streaming eyes. When Booth got a few steps away from him, he quickly realised what had caused the man's discomfort. The bottom half of his jeans were soaked with liquid and fumes of overproof alcohol came off his body in waves. Booth intuitively connected the empty fruit tins – peaches were often added to the bottom of a mason jar to give moonshine a little bourbon-like colour – and realised he'd probably interrupted the bottling process of the latest batch of 'white lightening'. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up; he'd bet his next pay check that there was a gun trained on him from somewhere. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of his partner sitting unprotected in the truck out front. He let his posture relax, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, while he stood his ground and let the other man approach him.

"What kin I do fer ya?" the man asked, pleasantly enough.

Booth raised his ID again, "Special Agent Seeley Booth. I need a word with Ethan Williams."

"I'm his daddy, Joseph Williams. I ain't seen young Ethan since he got out of prison a couple of months ago. His mama told me he called her from Charlottesville or Richmond, I can't remember which; got hisself a hitch with a trucker operating thereabouts. I doubt we'll see him round these parts in a hurry – he knows how me and his mama feel about the law," Williams couldn't contain the smirk that lifted one side of his mouth, "and he'll be hanging his head in shame at what he done." Booth kept his features blank and remained motionless, his senses on full alert. The sound of the older man's wheezing lungs filling the silence. Taking out a packet of cigarettes the bootlegger tapped one out, absently feeling in his shirt pocket for a lighter, but thought better of it as the rising breeze whipped the scent of alcohol around his head, and he hastily pocketed them again.

Booth caught a movement out of the corner of his eye; he thought he discerned a crouched figure near another of the dilapidated buildings. Of course, he didn't believe a word of the fairy-tale he'd just been spun; he doubted whether this man could stick to the truth if his life depended on it. But he could tell that the older man thought he had the upper hand, his confidence at pulling the wool over the government man's eyes made him bold. He hawked and spat on the ground, shrugging in a parody of an apology to the agent. "Black lung." he said by way of explanation. Booth was powerless to stop the flicker of revulsion that crossed his features, but the other man had turned and was walking towards the rear of the house.

"Come up to the house - set and have a glass of sweet tea, while I see whether we got anything from Ethan that might help you out." He oozed phoney geniality, but Booth went along happily with the charade. While ever Williams' senior thought he had Booth duped, his cockiness might trip him up.

*******************

Brennan followed Booth's progress with her eyes as he descended the porch stairs and headed around the side of the house. A cadaverous looking man with a mop of thick black hair stepped from one of the outbuildings and bent double at something her partner must have said; Booth could be very charming without even trying. Brennan envied him his social ease. She watched the two men conversing for a few moments. Booth looked relaxed and didn't seem to be worried at all, which in turn put Brennan at ease. The painkillers had kicked in and she was feeling marginally better. She heard a puppy yap again and she looked around to see if she could see it – yes, there it was at the edge of the road. With its sleek short coat coloured white with splodges of tan over its eyes and ears, it was obviously of mixed breed, resembling most closely a whippet, although its oversized paws suggested to her that it might grow closer to greyhound size. She opened the passenger door a crack and cooed at the tiny animal, which responded to her tone of voice with a waggle of its whip-like tail. The puppy cocked its head to one side, its pink tongue lolling out of its mouth, and Brennan couldn't help a low chuckle at its antics. Taking a quick look around to see whether she was observed, she slipped out of the SUV and approached the young dog.

"C'mon, puppy, c'mon." She held her hand out tentatively, and the little dog cocked his head again, this time to the other side. Brennan was enchanted with the pup, and got close enough to get a soft lick on her hand, before the puppy upped and scampered into the bushes. She glanced over to the house, and heard the dim echo of Booth's laughter; everything was okay. Even so, she felt a little guilty as she followed the path the dog had taken. Within a few feet she was swallowed up by green darkness.

"Hey, pup, come and say hello." she called softly. She could discern the white of the dog's coat glowing in the low light, although she couldn't make out its form. She blinked again, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness, clicking her fingers and whistling softly to the animal. She knelt down to get closer and almost lost her balance when a disembodied voice spoke to her from the gloom.

"His name's Puddin'."

"Wha – who's there?" Now that her eyes had adjusted, she could just discern through the pattern of leaves a child's thin arm hooked over the dog's back, holding the squirming animal still. A pair of metal rimmed glasses perched on a freckled nose soon morphed into the angular face of a young boy as he raised himself to his knees from a deep crouch, to get a better look at her.

"Puddin', hey? Well he's a very nice dog. You're very lucky to have a dog like that."

"He ain't mine, I'm lookin' after him for my friend, Maddy." His voice dropped, "But she's been gone a piece now, and I don't think she's comin' back. He keeps runnin' away to here to try and find her. I think he's sufferin' from sep'ration anxiety."

"How do you know about separation anxiety?" Brennan was bemused by the sophisticated terminology and the child's grasp of the situation. He inspected Brennan closely with a candid directness only a child could get away with. She apparently passed whatever test he'd set and he grinned at her boldly. "I read it. In a book." Brennan missed the irony that sat incongruously in the child's voice. "Who're you?"

"I'm Dr Temperance Brennan, I'm here with an agent from the FBI. Who are you?" At the mention of the FBI, the young boy shrank back, slipping his hold on the dog. The puppy, thinking it was a new game, yapped and danced around them, licking Brennan's face excitedly.

"Puddin' likes ya. I'm Jerry. Are ya really here with the Federal Bureau of Investigation?" The young boy took his time over the enunciation of the Bureau's full title, but didn't stumble once on the words. His eyes were like saucers, although Brennan couldn't tell if it was in fear or awe.

"Mmm-hmm." Brennan accepted the child's precocity without question but still frowned; something he'd said was bothering her, but she was having trouble organising her thoughts properly. A heavy queasiness was pressing down on her. "What happened to your friend Maddy?" She tried to keep her voice light, but she could feel her balance starting to waver.

"Hank hurt her." The boy's voice shook with sudden, intense fear and he took another step back, casting an anxious eye towards the road, in the direction of the Williams' house. At that moment, she heard Booth call her name and she turned sharply in the direction of the sound. The movement made her head spin badly and a spasm of nausea attacked her. Before she could do more than cry out, blackness overcame her and she slumped to the ground in a faint.

*******************

When Booth left the Williams home several minutes later, his first thought was to check on Bones. The meeting, though unproductive as far as locating Ethan Williams, had been fertile with information about the family. Hillyard was right, they were trouble.

When he saw that the SUV was empty he almost panicked. His heart in his mouth, he called her name, his eyes searching to the left and right for some sign of her. The sound of someone crashing through the undergrowth brought his head up and he had started towards the noise when he heard his partner cry out. He broke into a run, his weapon drawn. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Brennan was sitting cross legged on the ground rubbing her temples when Booth found her a few seconds later. He holstered his gun once he had assured himself there was no-one else there.

"Bones – what happened?" He threw himself down beside her and took her hands in his, stilling their movement so that he could check her for injuries to her head. "There's no blood, so that's gotta be a good thing, right? But you're really pale."

"I think I fainted." Brennan's voice reflected her confusion, "Where's Jerry?"

"Who?" He asked distractedly, quickly running his hands down her arms and checking her over for signs of violence. His quick assessment reassured him that she was uninjured. "Can you get up?" Brennan nodded, wincing at the pain the movement caused to her head. Using both hands Booth gently helped her to her feet. He put his arm around her shoulders to keep her steady and she leant into him, needing his strength for the moment. He tipped her chin up with his knuckle, absently thumbing a smear of dirt from her cheek and pulling off a leaf that had become tangled in her hair. "You need a keeper, you know that, Bones?"

"I do not." But her protest was weak and she didn't attempt to pull away. She was still disoriented from losing consciousness, even for so brief a time. Although her head was already clearing, the pounding headache had returned. She looked around her, straining to see further into the thick undergrowth.

Booth followed her movement, "There's no-one here, I already checked. There's nothing to worry about. Let's get you back to the truck."

"No wait. There was a little boy with a puppy - " Just as Booth started to guide her towards the truck a deafening crash of thunder directly overhead obliterated the rest of her words. They covered the last few feet at a run, making it to the SUV before the heavens split, spilling sheets of water that pounded like fists on the metal skin of the vehicle. Both of them were panting at their exertions, but at least a little colour had returned to Brennan's face. Booth got them on the road without delay.

"Let's head back to DC, you need to see a doctor. How are you doing?" He shot a quick glance at his partner, but she had her head turned away from him.

"I admit that I've felt better, but I don't need a doctor. I think I may have contracted some sort of viral infection. But we can't go back yet, I think I just met someone who can help us identify our victim."

"What? Where?"

"I told you, there was a little boy called Jerry and a puppy called Puddin'." She put her hand on his arm, getting agitated, "He said Hank – Ethan Williams - hurt his friend, Maddy, and he was really scared of the family. We need to follow this up. Booth, it's got to be connected. I need another look at that cave."

Booth frowned; he hadn't taken much notice when she'd mentioned the boy before, concentrating his attention on whether she was hurt. "You're right. What we need to do is track down that little boy and find out whether he can help us with this case." He gave her a level look, "Are you sure you're up to this, Bones?"

Brennan set her lips in grim determination. "Absolutely."

Booth shook his head slowly, unsurprised by her response. He admired her tenacity; she was obviously feeling well under par but she still wanted – needed – to follow this through. He sent her a crooked smile. "That's my girl."

The wipers were pounding at full speed, but visibility was almost zero. Booth could only crawl along the rough country roads, second-guessing their direction as the GPS didn't cover the area in enough detail to be useful. The tempest broiled around them unabated.

"Booth, pull onto that track – I think that's where we were yesterday, at the cave, I'm sure of it." He responded to the urgency in her voice immediately, slamming on the brakes to take the turn, but the SUV didn't respond properly, and he took the curve wide, tyres spinning briefly on the gravel surface before the vehicle stability and traction control systems stabilised the vehicle. He applied the brakes again as they'd picked up some speed on the turn, but nothing happened. He pumped the pedal repeatedly but it was unresponsive. The brakes had failed.

He put an arm out to his partner protectively, his hand pressed against her midsection, "Hold on, Bones, we've lost the brakes. We're not going very fast, but we _are_ going to crash."

Brennan held on to his arm with both hands and turned to him, her eyes round with alarm as the SUV left the track and crashed through the thick undergrowth.

* * *

_There was a "young" lass from Tasmania,  
Whose liking to write got insanier  
To help her think straight  
She begs you to rate  
This chapter, and hope she gets brainier!_

_Look - there's the button! How exciting! - - - - - -_


	8. What a Dance

A/N Thanks to everyone who's reviewed or alerted my stories (so many – wow!) … you all must know how inspiring it is to have that sort of feed back; it can make the difference between giving up and powering on so, hey, thank you. Seriously. Bottom line – thanks to everyone for reading!

A nod and a smile to _A Traveler_ for accidentally sending me off on a fascinating tangent. Ta - I love it when that happens!

Pax (Pats) – this wouldn't be happening without your help – thanks. You're lovely. My mate Pax has some terrific stories on the trot: "The Boy on the Mall" and "The Principal in the Man" are his two latest which I know you'll really enjoy – I can recommend them without hesitation – he's my hero!

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

* * *

Chapter Eight: What a dance …

* * *

Claustrophobia clawed at his face before Booth could push himself away from the rapidly deflating front airbag. Using his legs to push away the knee airbag that had deployed when the front end of the Sequoia took the impact, he fumbled to unhitch his seatbelt so that he could twist around to reach Brennan. She looked bewildered for a moment, then her eyes drifted closed. For the second time that day he ran his hands over her upper body to check for injury.

"Bones - Temperance, are you okay?" Booth ran his tongue over his lips, his mouth suddenly dry when she didn't respond immediately. The action caused him to ingest some of the powdery deposit from the airbag lubricant that dusted the entire cab, including its occupants. The taste left him nonplussed. "Why am I salty?"

Without opening her eyes Brennan automatically offered an explanation, albeit wearily, "It's a miniscule amount of residual sodium hydroxide and potassium chloride effluent produced by the propellant degrading. The propellant is probably a combination of nitroguanidine, a nonmetallic oxidizer, and a nitrogen-rich fuel like tetrazole or triazole." She opened her eyes in time to see the horrified expression on his face.

"What? They put dangerous chemicals in an airbag? That's crazy!" Booth tried to spit the powder out, succeeding only in spraying the dash with saliva.

"Basically baking soda and a table salt substitute." Brennan translated dryly. "Relatively harmless." Brennan looked up to find Booth regarding her affectionately, a wide grin now splitting his face.

"What's so funny?" She glared at him, smoothing her hair down in a reflex action.

"Nothing. It's just that if you're spouting all that squint speak at me, you must be okay."

"Of course I'm okay. I have a very robust constitution. I never - oh … oh … ooohhh …" Brennan scrabbled at the door handle, oblivious of the torrential rain, and half leaned out of the door while she vomited violently. She was grateful for Booth's hands on her shoulders; without his support she probably would have fallen to the ground. Nausea wracked her body in waves for several minutes.

When she finally leaned back against the seat, she was soaked from the waist up, and panting heavily. Booth wordlessly pressed the bottled water and a packet of tissues into her hands, which she took gratefully. Concern crumpled his features and he pushed her hair out of her eyes, using his sleeve to try and blot up some of the water running in rivulets down her cheeks.

"Bones, look at me." She turned her face towards him only to find her chin pinioned firmly by his thumb and index finger. Booth held the miniature Maglite from his keyring in the other hand, which he aimed into her eyes. When she realised his intention, she tried to speak, but he just shushed her and flicked the light over both pupils to check if there was a disparity in their dilation. He found none.

"I didn't hit my head, it's not a concussion." She said faintly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Keep still will you?" Booth continued gently running his fingers through her hair, checking for lumps and bumps.

"You know, you're not a doctor – you have no medical training." She couldn't help pointing that fact out.

"I'm aware of that Bones, but I've seen enough field injuries and I know what to look out for." With a start, Brennan realised his experience in the Rangers probably made him almost as qualified to render first aid as she was. She relaxed, unconsciously enjoying the feel of his hands on her scalp and neck.

When he was satisfied that there was nothing visibly wrong, he gently tapped the tip of her nose with one finger, his voice gruff. "You're okay as far as I can tell. It doesn't look like you've cracked your skull or anything – no brain oozing out."

"I told you." But she said it in a small voice, in reality grateful for his concern. She stretched her arms and legs experimentally, relief flickering across her face when she encountered no pain. Unhappily the same could not be said for her head, which was pounding mercilessly. She found the painkillers and swallowed a couple eagerly.

"Actually, I feel a little bit better, apart from a headache and general weakness. I believe I definitely contracted some mild form of transient infection. Nothing Hodgins couldn't identify in a nanosecond. Whatever was causing my nausea seems to have – er – dissipated." She grimaced, unable to meet his eyes, self-conscious that he'd seen her in such a vulnerable state. Booth kept himself busy, kneeling on the driver's seat and hooking his gym gear into the back seat. He tossed her a clean towel from the bag. She smiled her thanks and rubbed at her soaking hair, surrounded by the fresh Boothy smell of the towel.

"What happened, how did we crash?" her voice was muffled behind the towel.

"We lost the brakes on the turn. I don't know why, but I have my suspicions." The controlled anger in his voice made her stop what she was doing and look at him, a question in her eyes. He explained, "I've got a feeling that someone's messed with the brakes; the way they just went like that … someone could have got to SUV outside of the Williams' house." He put his hand out to the radio, unclipping the handset. The end of the cord slapped against his wrist. It had been cut, and when he looked closer saw that the wiring had been ripped from the back of the set for good measure.

"Oh great, they got the radio as well."

"But why would anyone do that? Has Ethan Williams got something to do with this?"

"He wasn't there and I got a total whitewash from the parents. But what I did manage to do was interrupt Williams Senior's 'manufacturing business'." Booth filled her in on what he had seen, heard and smelled near the outbuildings. "Selling hooch, not to mention avoiding the tax on liquor, is big business in some quarters, and I don't doubt for a second that Joseph Williams is capable of trying something to stop me from calling the troops on him. He knew that I wouldn't be able to do anything on my own; I think he'd do anything to give himself time to pack and run. I bet if we went back there now every trace of his operation would be gone."

"So he tried to kill you? You were in that much danger there?" Brennan looked deeply troubled and he glossed over the threat.

"I think delay was what he wanted to achieve. That we weren't badly hurt is down to pure luck on our part. That and the weather. If we'd been able to go any faster I think there's a good chance we'd be more than just wet and stranded now."

"Oh no, Booth." A look of dismay came over her features, "… if I hadn't got out of the car to pet the little dog …" Brennan was angry with herself for leaving them vulnerable to the possibility of sabotage by her actions, but Booth forestalled her.

"If you hadn't got out of the car we wouldn't know about this kid." he countered, not mentioning the other alternative; that _she_ might have been the thing that had been messed with. The possibility made his stomach clench in dread.

Brennan's face cleared at his statement, "Jerry, yes! We've got to find him." She looked out the side window, watching the wind lash the branches of the trees into fantastic silhouettes. "So, what do we do now?" As Brennan asked the question, Booth was flipping open his phone to check the signal. "Get anything?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope. I guess between the storm and the hills I didn't really hold out much hope I'd get a line, but it was worth a try." He tossed the phone back onto the centre console dejectedly, one side of his mouth curled up wryly.

"I don't suppose we'd get very far in the SUV?" Brennan showed her naivety about all things mechanical with that comment.

Booth's laugh was humourless. "Bones, apart from the fact that we don't have any brakes, have you seen the front of the car?" They both automatically looked forwards, where the crumpled front bumper nestled against a tree. Steam was hissing spitefully from under the hood.

"Can you fix it? I know you're very knowledgeable about cars and mechanical things."

"As much as I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, I think this'll take a bit more than a pair of your pantyhose and some duct tape." Brennan stared at him, uncomprehending. He sighed, "No, I can't fix it."

"Well, when the storm clears we can walk to get help. How far back is it to a house?" She had reached a logical conclusion and Booth was familiar with her clear eyed view of any problem; there was always a solution, they just had to find the right one.

"We probably won't have to go too far, we just need to get in range of a signal and we can call your tame Sheriff to come and get us. But it'll still be a hike."

It was the only alternative. Booth glanced out the window, knowing that they'd have to set out sooner or later. The odds of a Good Samaritan appearing in the middle of nowhere were off the board; they weren't exactly broken down on the Beltway. And no way was he leaving her in the truck alone after everything that had happened. So they went together or not at all. He shifted his gaze to her face, to the dark shadows under her eyes. The rain was still pelting down on the truck, whipped into weird patterns on the windshield. Every so often clumps of leaves or pieces of broken branch slapped against the roof and sides of the truck, tossed about on the whim of the surging wind. As if on cue, forked lightning speared through the purple sky as almost simultaneously a deep roll of thunder measured its power.

"_Whoa baby!_ I think we'll just stay where we are for now." Lightning split the sky again. "Wow - that's some show! Storms are amazing … sometimes Parker and I turn all the lights off and open the blinds and just watch the fireworks." He turned back to his partner, exhilaration still lighting up his face. "We won't be walking out of here any time soon – and besides, you need to rest up for a while."

Brennan pursed her lips, considering the options. She finally nodded, acknowledging the logic of his decision in the face of the circumstances they found themselves in. Without warning a shiver raked her body.

"God, Bones, you must be freezing, you're soaked. Hang on and I'll get something for you to change into." This time he climbed bodily into the back seat, folding his long legs through the gap with difficulty and ending up with a foot tangled in the centre console. He landed on the rear seat with an 'oof' and couldn't believe it when he heard Brennan's chuckle.

"At least I'm keeping you entertained." The longer he spent with Brennan, the better he got at sarcasm.

Brennan realised that silence, in this case, was the better part of valour and refrained from further comment. Booth rummaged around, pulling a faded maroon Phila U sweatshirt from his gym bag, as well as placing her overnight bag on the driver's seat so she could get whatever she needed from it. He was reaching into the rear space to see what else there might be that could be useful when her wet jacket and shirt came sailing over the seat, slapping him in the back, followed a moment or two later by the now sodden towel. He'd kept his eyes averted politely while she changed, but turned in reaction to this rear guard attack, ready to rib her about her high handed behaviour. The words didn't make it out of his mouth.

Brennan had stripped down to her bra and was leaning over to the driver's seat to delve through her bag. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her smooth curves; his eyes were branded with this picture of her and he knew he'd be seeing that image for a very long time, every time he closed his eyes. She pulled a light purple tee over her head, breaking his trance, and he turned away, squeezing his eyes shut guiltily. Yep, there it was, burned into his brain.

A tiny sound brought his head up abruptly – her teeth were chattering, whether from cold or shock or a combination of both he didn't know. She was ashen, drenched and exhausted. And unutterably beautiful.

His shoulders slumped; it was his fault they were in this mess. "Bones, I'm sorry, I should have looked after you better."

"What are you talking about?" The look she gave him was priceless.

"I should have taken you straight back to DC when you told me you were sick. We could have avoided all this if I hadn't been so gung ho." When Brennan snorted derisively, he swung back towards her in surprise.

"You're being irrational, Booth. We're _both_ fired by the same determination to solve these cases, you know that. That's one of the reasons we make such a good team. You also know I don't need you to look after me all the time, although I appreciate what you did for me, what you're doing for me now." She smiled at him, taking some of the sting out of her words, "More to the point, if we'd done that we'd still be unaware of the Ethan Williams connection, and like you said, we've got an excellent potential lead in young Jerry. Besides, I really am feeling better – my headache is fading and, apart from being very tired, I don't seem to be experiencing any other symptoms." She took the sweatshirt from him with a murmur of thanks, easing her arms into its softness, "I told you I have a very strong constitution."

"No – Bones, don't say that. Last time you said that you barfed. Let's not go there again, okay?" That made them both laugh. Booth turned to pull a couple more things from the back and arranged them on the seat. "Right, if you can climb in the back here, you can stretch out and take a nap. There's nothing we can do right now anyway. One way or another we're stuck until this weather clears."

"The idea of a nap _is_ very appealing. I ache all over." She put a hand on each of the front seats and wearily pulled herself through the gap, edging around him while he folded his legs as far back as he could to let her squeeze past in the confined space. He'd unearthed an old fleece blanket of Parker's that had been floating around in the back of the truck for weeks. It was covered in purple and green dinosaurs and was on the small side, but would be enough to keep her warm. He'd folded his suit coat, lining side out, around his gym bag as a pillow.

"What about you?" Fatigue dragged at her and Brennan didn't need any encouragement to lie down on the bench seat, curling herself into a ball so that he didn't have to move. Booth wordlessly unzipped her short boots and slipped them off her feet.

"I can recline the driver's seat almost flat if I want to rest. I'll be as snug as a bug in a rug."

"Your rug has bugs? What rug?" She asked through a yawn, pulling the blanket up under her chin.

"No, Bones, it's an expression, 'snug as a bug in a rug' it means …" He let his voice trail off; her eyes were already shut. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her breathing for a few moments. "It means comfortable, safe, content." He whispered. Then he groaned softly, scrubbing both hands over his face. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Brennan drifted awake a couple of hours later. Although the heavy storm clouds had moved west and taken with them the spectacular thunder and lightning, the rain still beat a steady staccato on the roof of the SUV. Brennan found the rhythm soothing; she was warm, comfortable and safe. The sound of rustling paper intruded on her peace. Her curiosity piqued, she opened one eye.

The driver's seat was pushed back as far as it could go and Booth had slid right down in it, his knees propped on the steering wheel. The Burbridge file was balanced on his lap. Every other surface within reach was dotted with coloured index cards and he was scribbling notes in a black covered notebook.

"Hey." Brennan sat up, knuckling the sleep from her eyes like a five year old.

Booth turned to look at her, her actions bringing a smile unbidden to his face. "Hey yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Good." She sounded almost surprised. She swung her legs to the floor. "I'm hungry. I could eat a whole pot of minestrone soup."

"Ha! Now, how did I know you were going to be hungry?" He grinned at her, triumphantly holding up an open half pound packet of jelly beans, a mangled looking Tootsie roll in its cellophane wrapper and some rice crackers in a Tupperware container with 'Parker Booth' written on the lid in permanent marker. Brennan eyed the cache without enthusiasm and Booth pulled his hand back out of her reach. "Jeez, Bones, I slave over a hot oven for hours - "

"Wha – oven - what are you talking about?" She asked absent-mindedly, trying to grab the candy he held just out of her reach.

"- and do you show any appreciation? No! I don't know why I bother." He surrendered the bag of jelly beans to her. "Save me the black ones."

Brennan leaned forward between the front seats, casting an eye over the papers spread all over the cab and chewing on the candy. "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to get everything about this case straight in my head. Nothing adds up. We still don't have a clear cause of death, but we know our victim was abused and tortured prior to her death."

Brennan stifled a yawn, sleep still clinging to her, and nodded in agreement. She leaned forward and gathered up the cards on the passenger seat so she could climb into the front and sit down.

"_Bones_, watch what you're doing – I have a system going here!"

"I'm being careful." She made a neat pile of the cards and placed them on the dash. "The evidence suggests that the abuse had been going on for months, possibly years. She was malnourished, had repetitive strain injuries evident in the knees, elbows and lumbar spine and numerous fractures consistent with direct physical abuse, as well as the bruising Cam found."

"So she's mistreated and abused and Child & Family Services have no record of her at all and, as far as we know Angela hasn't had any sort of hit against Missing Persons. All of which means …" Booth let his voice trail away.

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know. I'm still struggling with the idea that this little girl had to have remained off the official radar her whole life."

"Well, cultural isolationism in a small community could account for the fact that she doesn't appear in any official records."

"The whole Thomas Jefferson, '_… entangling alliances with none…'_ thing?" Booth looked cynical.

Brennan shrugged. "Applies to communities as well as nations. Many religious societies - Mennonite, Amish, Christian – still restrict contact with the outside world to retain the so-called purity of their preferred belief system."

"Do you think she came from a religious community?"

"It's possible, but I have no way of knowing that. But I only used those communities to illustrate the idea. Any culturally isolated group is capable of viewing external influences with suspicion, even as threatening, encouraging a dependence on the known as opposed to the unknown. That's not to say that these groups necessarily live without outside contact, only that they value their own culture above all others and have their own moral values that may or may not intersect with societal norms."

"Could that apply to a particular family, like the Williams clan?" Booth wondered. "I got the whole family tree from Joseph Williams when I was there. He boasted about the fact that they had their own special code. Apparently they're a mining family from way back. What do you think?"

"Sure, it could apply in a familial situation."

Booth pulled a face as he recalled the encounter. "Sheesh, you should have heard him wheezing. He said he had something called 'Black Lung'. He must have a two pack a day habit."

"Pneumoconiosis. It's an occupational and restrictive lung disease caused by the inhalation of dust, like coal or silica dust. Coal miners in particular are prone to it. If it was severe, he wouldn't be able to do any sort of manual work and would probably need assistance with a lot of day-to-day activities."

"Whatever – it was disgusting." He paused, turning things over in his mind. "I keep coming back to them, the Williams family. This little girl lived somewhere, with someone. She had a mother and a father. Who are they? _Where_ are they? So far we have nothing that leads us away from this area, so I say we follow what we've got here. I still think Gareth Burbridge knows more than he told us." He flicked a page on his notepad and made a notation against Burbridge's name.

Brennan took up where he left off. "We know Ethan Williams was at the cave; we know our victim was at the cave. We don't know whether he was there at the same time as our victim."

"Maybe he took her there." Booth narrowed his eyes speculatively. "Maybe he's the one responsible for the animal cruelty cases and his behaviour has – what do they call it? – escalated."

"You'd have to ask Sweets about that – you need a _psychologist_." Brennan scoffed, lending the term no weight at all.

"You're right. I'll call him when we're back in range."

The look Brennan shot him was filled with disapproval, but she ignored his comment and went on, "Then there's what the boy, Jerry, might be able to tell us about his friend, and what he meant when he said that Hank hurt her. If it's actually connected." Brennan picked at the label of the water bottle she held, taking out her frustration on the sticky plastic.

"Hodgins' findings on the blood samples you collected at the cave make me think Ethan used that cave to -" Booth paused, distaste at his own theory evident, "- indulge whatever sick form of amusement he was into."

"So Ethan Williams is a suspect?"

"At the top of my list." They both fell quiet then, each consumed by their thoughts. Neither of them had noticed that the light was fading fast, or that the rain had backed off to a light drizzle.

"Have some rice crackers – you need a balanced diet." Booth held out the container and Brennan chuckled as she took a couple.

"Hey, the rain's stopped." Brennan drew her finger idly through the film of moisture that frosted the inside of the windows. "Look you can see the stars."

"I guess you can name all the stars, right Bones?" Booth teased.

She just smiled. "My dad used to take Russ and me out on clear nights and teach us where to find the different constellations at different times of the year. Delphinus is the first one I learned about."

"What's that one?"

"The Dolphin."

"For your Mom." It was a statement, not a question.

Brennan didn't respond directly, but continued to stare out of the window, leaning her forehead against the glass. "The brightest stars form a distinctive asterism that can easily be recognized. It's bordered in the north by Vulpecula the fox, then Sagitta the arrow, Aquila the eagle in the east, Aquarius the water-carrier, Equuleus the foal and lastly Pegasus the flying horse. Delphinus is associated with two stories from Greek mythology.

"According to the first one, Poseidon wanted to marry Amphitrite, a nereid, or sea nymph. She fled to the Atlas mountains, wanting to protect her virginity. Searchers were sent out to find her, one of which was Delphinus. Delphinus accidentally stumbled upon her and was able to persuade Amphitrite to accept Poseidon's wooing. Out of gratitude the god placed the image of a dolphin among the stars."

"Pretty racy stuff, that Greek mythology."

"That's pretty tame for the Greeks. But it's the second story that's my favourite. It's about a poet, Arion of Lesbos." Booth snorted, trying hide his grin.

"What's so funny?"

"Lesbos – c'mon." He couldn't restrain a juvenile snigger.

"I don't get it."

"Don't worry about it. Go on with the story."

She questioned him a look, but he just smiled and waited for her to continue. "Arion of Lesbos was also a court musician at the palace of Periander, ruler of Corinth. Arion had accumulated a fortune travelling to the royal courts in Sicily and Italy. On one of his trips the crew of his ship, jealous of his wealth, conspired against him. Threatened with death, Arion asked to be granted a last wish: he wanted to sing a lament. The crew granted him his wish and, and while he sang his dirge, he flung himself into the sea. There, he was rescued by a dolphin which had been charmed by Arion's music. The dolphin carried Arion to the coast of Greece, saving his life, and left, disappearing over the horizon."

"That's beautiful, Bones." He gave her a look of admiration, shaking his head at the scope of her knowledge. "How do you keep all this stuff in your head?"

Brennan turned to face him. "I've heard you spout sports trivia for an hour straight. How do you keep all _that_ stuff in _your_ head?"

"That's different, it's … facts and figures. It's Sport." Booth said 'sport' like Brennan would say 'anthropology'.

She tipped her head to the side, trying to find a way to explain what she meant. "It doesn't matter what the subject is. The British poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, said _'The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.' _Passion hones your memory, Booth." Brennan's voice was unconsciously tinged with a hint of arrogance.

"Mmm, but a fellow countryman of his, Mr D H Lawrence also said, _'Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot.' _"

"Wh-where did you learn that?"Brennan's expression was stunned.

"Not just a pretty face, Bones. Must've read it on a cereal packet once." Trying not to look too smug, Booth reached back and picked up his leather jacket. "I need to stretch my legs. You okay for a few minutes?"

"Of course." Brennan watched him don the jacket in silence, but as he made to open the door, she laid a hand on his arm. "You are a constant surprise to me, Booth. Just when I think I understand you, you show me another facet and give me something else to think about."

"Watch out, Bones, if you're not careful you might actually say something nice about me."

* * *

"Try it now." Booth called to his partner, using the break in the weather to tinker with the car's engine. It was fully dark now and the night promised to be cool; a northerly wind was already sending the temperature plummeting. Although he knew there was no way he'd be able to drive the vehicle, Booth hoped he'd at least be able to get the engine ticking over so that they could have heat and light. So far he'd had no luck, and the rain was threatening again.

"Try it again." Brennan turned the ignition, but nothing happened, the battery didn't even turn over.

Booth grabbed the torch he'd been using and slammed the hood shut in disgust, cursing loudly. "I'd need a complete workshop to get that going again, forget about spares. The only way the SUV is getting out of here is on the back end of a tow truck."

"Quick, Booth, it's starting to rain again." She slipped back into her own seat as he dashed back to the cover of the vehicle.

* * *

"Bet even that crappy mattress at the hotel is looking good now." Booth's voice came out of the dark, teasing her. "If we weren't carrying half your lab in the back, we could've stretched out properly." He pushed back the image that sprang to his mind of how that could have worked.

"Mmm, I don't know. At least this seat has lumbar support." Both front seats were reclined as far as they would go. "In fact, this is just as comfortable as an airline seat."

"First class?"

"Of course." Brennan sighed, shifting onto her side so that she was facing him. Weak moonlight limned his features and she could just make out that he was smiling. It made her feel … safe. "What a pair we are."

"Yeah." Booth rolled to face her, reaching over to tuck his son's blanket closer around her, before pulling his jacket up over his shoulders. "C'mon, let's get some sleep. We've got a long walk in the morning."

* * *

_Okay, if you've got down all the way to here you must have just read this chapter. And it's probably obvious by now how much I like dialogue. A lot. What better way to start a dialogue with __**me**__ than press the little button?! You can review (nice), or just say hello (just as nice!) XD_


	9. Lordy, how I'm telling you

A/N: Thanks as always to pax mundi for his inspiration and encouragement – rah rah sis boom bah, hon. *hugs*

Thanks for all the PMs everyone – it's great to get to know you a bit better! Hope you enjoy this chapter XD

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

* * *

Chapter Nine: Lordy, how I'm telling you …

* * *

"Have you heard from Brennan yet?" Angela was standing at the doorway to Cam's office, asking the same question she'd asked several times over. "Or Booth?" Angela chewed absently on her left index finger. It was 9:00pm and she was starting to get worried.

Cam saved the report she was working on and turned around to look at Angela. "No. But it's not unusual if they're on the trail of something or someone, and besides, they're up in the wilds of West Virginia. I doubt they got coverage back after Dr Hodgins' call dropped out."

Angela took a few steps towards the desk, agitation apparent in her stance, "Yeah, but that was hours ago. I thought they might have been back by now. Or at least that we would have heard from them."

"Angela," Cam studied her colleague, "Take a deep breath. Dr Brennan can look after herself, and Booth can look after them both. You're worrying over nothing."

"You're right." She let her shoulders relax. "I don't know why I'm getting worked up. I should be glad that, if something's held them up, at least it means they get to have another night of just the two of them, hopefully somewhere romantic with one bed and lots of reasons to share it." Angela caught the expression on Cam's face and her speculative smirk froze on her lips, "Sorry. Forgot where I was."

Cam grimaced, not entirely sure she disagreed with Angela's sentiments, but she wasn't going there. "Have you worked some of your magic on the Angelator?" She asked pointedly, changing the subject back to work matters. When Angela nodded, Cam strode off briskly in that direction, "How about showing me?"

Angela followed obediently, happy to be occupied on something concrete. Cam's eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, realising with a jolt that it _was_ late, and yes, it would have been usual to have heard from Booth and Brennan by now. She pushed back on the prick of unease that rose to the surface, mentally using the same arguments on herself that she'd just used on Angela.

Angela powered up the volumetric imaging device, and the ethereal figure of their victim materialised amid a scattering of spangled pixels.

"Right." Angela was all business now. "I've come up with seven different injury scenarios; I'm having difficulty trying to work out which ones, if any, could have been sustained at the same time, so I've broken them up into three groups. I've got the first one finalised, the other two are on their way. Brennan confirmed that the repetitive strain injuries were incurred over a relatively long period of time." She used the stylus to start the hologram. A young girl's figure began to walk with a pronounced stoop. "I don't believe that she walked like this all the time, but by my calculations she got the injuries on her back and knees from carrying heavy weights. A lot of heavy weights for a prolonged period of time."

Angela stared at the small figure, her heart aching at the image she'd created. With a sigh and another swipe of the stylus, Angela added another movement to the girl's progress. "I can't know for sure what caused any of these injuries, but the tennis elbow didn't come from her playing tennis. You can see that whatever it was that she did over and over again, she used a downward motion and to the side, with extra extension on the left shoulder." The figure made a motion with both hands, starting with them at chest height then swinging both hands to the right, near her hip. Angela was thoughtful, "The movement looks familiar. Does that look like anything familiar to you?"

Cam moved forward, staring intently at the holographic representation. When she spoke, her voice echoed her puzzlement. "Could she be rowing, maybe a kayak or a canoe?" Both women studied the action for a few moments, unable to place it.

"She's using a scythe." Zack spoke from the doorway, moving towards the plinth where the figure continued her tortuous journey in an endless loop.

Angela swung around to face him. "Like the Grim Reaper? Are you serious?"

Zack's expression didn't change in the face of her astonishment, and he raised one shoulder in a half shrug. "Isn't it obvious?" He looked at Angela and Cam in turn. "I have an overdeveloped sense of spatial reasoning ..." He returned their gaze without expression, not aware that they needed more information.

"Don't make her ask." Angela advised Zack after one look at Cam's face.

Jack walked in at that moment and filled in the dots for his friend. "He means that what can appear random to us is often plain as day to him."

Zack nodded and continued, his voice becoming almost animated. "Which is also what helped me work out what caused the patterning on the clothes." He crooked his finger, indicating they should follow him.

He moved to Angela's computer, tapping a few keys until he accessed the information he wanted. "I tested a wide range of metal grilles used in both domestic and commercial applications. Nothing matched the burn patterns that we saw on the victim's clothing. But I kept returning to my first impression." He spun the screen towards his colleagues with a gauche effort at showmanship. "It's two different patterns overlaid. I believe that the singeing was caused by the wire part of a bed frame and some sort of large coil superimposed over that pattern, both of them heated to a high temperature. Look," He zoomed into part of the singeing pattern, "This is what puzzled me." Zack pointed to the section in question on the screen, then manipulated the image into two layers, so that they were no longer linked. The patterns were now readily identified as he had described them. "There were no matching burn patterns on the body, and I believe we can safely conclude that it was caused by a separate incident."

Jack added, "I've also identified slight traces of copper on the clothing. Nothing to narrow it down any further than that, but that in itself could be significant."

Cam pressed her lips together in frustration. "So we still don't have a clear picture of what happened?"

"Dr Brennan says that every fact we garner from the evidence brings us one step closer to the truth." Zack said, unperturbed. His faith in his mentor was always solid and in this, as in any other situation, he knew that by subscribing to her passionate search for the truth a solution to this problem would become evident. He was confident that everything they learned now would add up in the end.

Jack took up the point. "We may not know the 'what' just at the moment, but we're getting closer to the 'where'."

"Now all we need is to get this information to Brennan. Maybe it will make more sense to her and Booth." Angela frowned, the concern she felt for her friend at the forefront of her mind again.

**********

Brennan came round, disoriented, not really sure what had woken her. When the beam of light speared through the cab of the SUV again, she was momentarily blinded by its intensity. She screwed up her face at the intrusion, turning her head away from it, and reached out and grabbed Booth's arm, thinking to wake him. But in the split second between feeling her touch and hearing her urgent whisper, he already had his hand on the weapon he'd wedged in its holster between his seat and the door. He peered through narrowed eyes into the darkness, trying to gauge the danger.

A figure draped in wet weather gear loomed several feet from the SUV, the last of the moonlight reflecting dimly on the rain slicked garb. In the pre-dawn murk, the silhouette looked huge and menacing.

"Agent Booth?" The light swung in an arc again, sending elongated shadows across the dash, but this time there was no menace. The outline of a uniformed man approached the vehicle, his features forming into those of the deputy that had assisted them at the cave – was it the day before? Booth flicked the safety back on his Glock and sheathed the weapon unobtrusively, opening his window to speak to the man, "Deputy -"

"Deputy Hancock, sir." He glanced over to Brennan, who was still blinking away the light, though her expression had changed from alarm to one of annoyance at her dream filled sleep being so rudely interrupted. He tipped a quick salute to Brennan. "Doctor. I'm right glad we found you both. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine, thanks Deputy, but the truck will need a tow." Booth's voice echoed his relief that help was at hand. Brennan talked big, but he had wondered whether her strength would have held for the long walk they faced. He scrunched up his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, partly to focus his efforts at waking up and partly pleased to have avoided that particular argument.

Deputy Hancock flashed the wide beam of his torch at the front end of the vehicle, wincing when he saw the crumpled fender and the buckle in the hood.

"Ran into a mess of trouble, sir? We got a top rate advanced driving course in town. I'm sure we can find y'all a place." Amusement coloured the deputy's deep voice, his enjoyment at being able to rescue the big city cop coming to the fore now that he knew they were unharmed.

Booth had no trouble tolerating the deputy's mild dig; he was used to being the butt of the occasional joke from local police whenever they had a chance to one-up the FBI. "Ran into something that's for sure." Booth responded dryly, but not without humour.

Without warning Brennan leaned over Booth to gain the deputy's attention, earnestly needing to set the record straight. "We ran into a tree, Deputy Hancock, after the failure of the braking system. Agent Booth handled the emergency commendably; his driving skills are excellent." Her face was a picture of solemn pride in her partner's abilities in general and his handling of this incident in particular.

"Why thanks, Bones." Booth let his smile deepen, touched by the way she leapt to his defence.

"I'm only stating the facts, Booth. Of course," she added, "we weren't going very fast."

"Yeah, okay, Bones." He flashed the deputy a tight look from under his brows, pinning his smile in place.

"And you did steer us right off the road. The natural incline of this road would have brought us to a stop eventually if you'd steered straight." She reasoned.

"You just had to go there ..." he muttered. By now he was frowning, and the deputy was having trouble hiding his grin. "Maybe I should have let you drive?" He asked, his voice laden with sarcasm.

Brennan considered the proposition briefly before inclining her head. "Perhaps. I'm an excel-"

"Right. Fine." Booth cut her off, opening the door and stepping into the fine drizzle. He looked at the deputy who was now grinning widely. "Are you just going to stand there or can we get out of here now?" He barked at the hapless officer, striding off towards the cruiser which he spotted parked a little further down the road, without waiting for an answer.

"I'm an excellent driver." Brennan stated calmly as Deputy Hancock opened her door and handed her out of the vehicle.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you are."

**********

Matt Hillyard sat a steaming cup of coffee down in front of Brennan, earning himself a grateful smile. She'd showered and changed into jogging pants and a long sleeved top that had been unearthed from somewhere, happy to be comfortable and dry. Booth was taking his turn in the shower, and the smell of sizzling bacon filled Arlene Mitchell's sprawling home. Hillyard had met the cruiser at his office manager's house just as the sun rose above the horizon, letting them know that he'd arranged for the SUV to be towed into town.

Arlene bustled over to the large oak table as Booth entered the kitchen. Sheriff Hillyard had brought a change of his own clothes for him, but Booth was having trouble keeping the trousers up and they kept slipping down low on his hips. Arlene struggled to keep a straight face when she saw his efforts, plonking a plate piled high with tomatoes, eggs, bacon, sausage and grits in front of him. "There's some fried taters on their way and some red eye gravy on the table. Get that into you, Agent Booth, and those pants of your'n will stay up by themselves." She giggled at her own joke, and sat down at the table with him and Brennan. Hillyard had taken up a vantage point at the archway through to the kitchen, and was having trouble keeping his eyes off Brennan as she worked her way through the pancakes, grilled mushrooms and fried tomatoes that Arlene had thoughtfully made for her.

"So, Joe Williams has been up to his old tricks." Hillyard commented, his voice hardening as he contemplated the turn of events. He'd shown no surprise when Booth had earlier outlined the situation at the Plaister Row residence, as well as describing the damage to the radio and his suspicions about the brakes. Booth nodded now, a mouthful of food precluding him from speaking, and Hillyard went on. "We closed down his operations there last year. I never for a moment thought that he'd be bold enough to set up shop again so quickly, and I hadn't heard even a whisper that his particular variety of 'white lightning' was on the market again. Usually we'd hear. He must be shipping it out of the State, instead of selling it locally."

Booth swallowed a hefty mouthful before he spoke, "If the operation is big enough, he might've teamed up with a distributor. I imagine he'd need help to get it out?"

Hillyard nodded, "We generally keep a pretty close eye on the whole family, but maybe we've become complacent." He sighed, "With the son out of the way doing his time, nothing much really happened up that way to get our attention, and we're spread kinda thin. There's been too much happening just down the road a piece to be able to keep too close a watch on him." Hillyard shook his head slowly, regret clouding his open features. "Well, I've alerted the ATF; it's their baby now. He can go to hell for all I care."

"Joe Williams don't have the sense God gave a cross-eyed mule, that's for sure." Arlene put her five cents worth in, "It's his wife I feel sorry for, but maybe that's a waste of breath; she made her choice a long time ago." She shook her head sadly. Nothing was said for a few moments as each of them around the table mulled over their thoughts.

Brennan broke the silence by pushing her plate away. She ran a hand over her stomach, privately grateful for the elastic waist of her borrowed clothes. "Thank you, Arlene, that was wonderful. I feel so much better now."

"Bless your heart, you're welcome, sugar. Have some more coffee. I've got some corn biscuits in the oven for later, and there's some leftover nanner puddin' if you've still got space." Brennan couldn't help the faintly bemused expression that came over her face; Arlene must have started cooking the minute Sheriff Hillyard called to let her know they'd been found. She looked at her partner, but his attention had been caught by the stack of food she hadn't been able to finish, and she wordlessly pushed the plate in his direction. Booth's eyes lit up and he helped himself to the remaining pancakes with glee, slathering them with syrup. Brennan stared at him in disbelief for a moment, before she turned to Hillyard.

"We're grateful for your help, Sheriff Hillyard. Agent Booth and I had anticipated a long walk this morning to get help."

"It's 'Matt', Dr Brennan, remember?" Hillyard reminded her pleasantly, using the opening to circle the table and take the seat nearest to her. Booth's head shot up and he scowled at the younger man. "Well, y'all can thank your friends Ms Montenegro and Dr Hodgins. When we didn't hear from you by the afternoon, I assumed that you'd headed back to Washington as you'd hoped to do. It wasn't until I got a call from Ms Montenegro at 2:00am this morning that we realised no-one had heard from you for just on twelve hours. Dr Hodgins insisted that you'd normally keep in touch and that we should send out a car to try and trace your movements. When Hancock found you I'd sent him there because I thought it was possible you might have headed back to the cave to have another look and had some sort of mishap. There're a whole system of caves and fissures in those parts and cell phone coverage is notoriously patchy round here." He smiled at her. "Just glad to know you're okay."

Booth stood abruptly, collecting the plates from the table and taking them to the sink, keeping his eyes firmly on his task. Arlene followed him, taking the load from him with a murmur of thanks. Giving him a sideways look, she smiled up at him.

"Ease back a mite, Mr Booth. Matt's got a sweetheart in Charlestown. It's just that your young lady is so pretty, any man'd be halfways dead not to react to it." She spoke in an undertone so that her words were only between them.

"She's my partner. We're not … you know, together." Booth automatically corrected her, his eyes still drawn to where Brennan and the Sheriff sat talking. Brennan laughed at something the young lawman said, and Booth's scowl got heavier.

Arlene gave him the level sort of look every mother gives a wayward child, "Mmm sure, honey, if you say so."

Booth brought his attention back to Arlene, responding to the amusement in her voice with a wry twist of his mouth. Changing the subject, his face relaxed and he smiled warmly down at her. "I want to thank you Arlene for the way you've welcomed two strangers into your home, and looked after us. It was above and beyond the call of duty."

Arlene arched her brows comically, "Duty? That's got nothing to do with it, young man. Land sake's, this is West Virginia – we make friends while we're standing in a line at the grocery store. And we always meet trouble with food. It was nothing, so don't fret. Glad I could help you and Dr Brennan out." She gave him a smile that bisected her wrinkled face and patted his hand, turning away to see to the hissing coffee pot that was calling for her attention.

When Booth rejoined them at the table, Brennan was asking Hillyard about the young boy she had met. She depicted him in elaborate detail, recalling in particular his apparent maturity for his age and evident grasp of adult concepts beyond his years. Hillyard took copious notes, unable to identify the boy but hoping to track him down by sending out the description.

Arlene brought a fresh pot of coffee to the table and sat down, her ears pricking up at the last part of Brennan's description. "That's young Jerry Beaumont, for sure. He's downright scary clever for a kid his age. His mama lets him run wild around those hills - she has no idea how to handle him. I think she's a bit nervous of him; I know lots of the local kids won't have a thing to do with him because of his brain power – he's as bright as a button and as quick as a copperhead. She home schools him. Well really, it's Evelyn Nordquist at the Library that actually does the schoolin' – she's got the necessary qualifications that are recognised by the School Board; it'd be beyond Sally Beaumont's capabilities." This last was said as an aside to Booth, and Hillyard nodded once in agreement.

Booth was watching his partner's reactions to this information, wondering whether she might be drawing any parallels to her own childhood, but her expression was no more than interested, although she leaned forward to ask a question, "How old is he?"

"Eleven going on forty five." was the woman's dry answer. Brennan frowned, not understanding the allusion, and looked to Booth for an explanation.

"He's old beyond his years, Bones." Still uncomprehending. "He acts older than eleven." He saw her brow finally clear in understanding and turned back to the others.

Arlene continued, "He's a bit of a strange one, though. He's so gifted he's light years ahead of anyone his age, but he can be secretive as well. I doubt whether anyone's ever sat him down and told him what's what in the real world, so I guess it's not surprising. He never had a daddy, and Sally just don't have it in her." She was interrupted by the loud 'ping' from the direction of the kitchen. "That'll be your clothes; I threw them all into the wash. I figured I'd rinse them out so's they were fresh for you. Couldn't do anything for that fancy suit of your'n, Mr Booth. It'll have to wait till you get back home, sorry to say." She was out of the chair before anyone else could react, and this time Brennan met Booth's eyes in astonishment, and they traded bewildered smiles. Matt Hillyard watched the exchange, a doting grin lighting his features. "It's best if you just relax and go with the flow. Arlene's a one woman dynamo."

"We'd noticed." Booth chuckled, watching the woman's retreating form. He turned back to Hillyard. "So, where do we find this Jerry Beaumont? We'll need to speak to him and his mother. Although there's no definite connection as yet, my gut is telling me it's a hot lead."

"They're not that far away from the Williams' place as the crow flies, but you approach it from a different direction. I'll send one of the deputies over there to track them down a bit later this morning. You can use the interview room at the station if you like?" Matt stood as he spoke, ready to start things happening.

Booth nodded his agreement. "Normally dealing with a child, I'd say we'd go to them, but from the way Arlene described this kid, I think it might be better if we spoke to him on neutral ground. Not that I want to intimidate him, but maybe getting out of his comfort zone might help us out, give us an edge." Matt nodded and left the room to make a couple of calls, leaving Booth and Brennan on their own. "How 'bout it Bones, are you up to sticking around here for another day to talk to this kid and maybe have another go at Burbridge?" He looked at her encouragingly, but then his brow puckered, "Or if you like I can arrange for a car to take you back to DC; you should really be checked out by a doctor."

Brennan screwed her face up in consternation, "What? No! We're a team, why do you want to split us up?" She was really annoyed at him.

"No way." He held out his hand to try and stem the potential diatribe, but she pulled away. "Hey, I'm just thinking of you, Bones. You've been sick, I thought maybe - "

She cut him off. "How many times do I have to tell you I can look after myself? In most of the places I've been to, a mild stomach virus doesn't even count as being sick. You don't need to coddle me like a mother goose." She had her lips pressed together in a straight line, and a tiny wrinkle formed across the bridge of her nose.

He couldn't drag his eyes away from that wrinkle, even as he corrected her. "It's mother hen."

"Maternal fowl, then." She waved a hand vaguely in the air, "It's still coddling."

"I'm not coddling you, I was just being considerate." She looked at him steadily, trying to gauge his sincerity. He used his best smile on her, opening his eyes wide and batting his eyelashes comically. As usual his antics diffused her temper, bringing a smile to her face.

"I guess I am still tired, more than I realised." She said ruefully, and he put a light arm over her shoulders to soothe her. "Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself." The thought made Booth swell with some unnamed emotion, and he squeezed her shoulders gently, reassuringly.

"What say we check into that crappy motel again and you can get some real sleep before we start over again? Lumbar support or not, the front seat of the SUV probably isn't the most luxurious night's rest you've ever had."

Neither of them realised that Arlene had watched most of their exchange from the archway, but now she came forward, the basket of washing propped on her hip.

"Good Lord, you two, I've got miles of room and I'll be offended if you don't stay here. You can stay as long as you like. I won't get in your way, or you in my way for that matter."

"Oh I don't know Arlene. It's a very generous offer, but -" Booth was flustered, and the implications of her suggestion were playing havoc with his mind.

"No buts about it. We had three teenage boys, all well grown and married now with children of their own, but my late husband couldn't stand their music or their parties when they were growing up. He built a whole wing for them; it's got a separate entrance and its own bathroom ... it's virtually self-contained. Those rooms haven't been used in a coon's age; you'd be helping me out."

"Do you know what the internet is?" Brennan asked bluntly, ignoring Booth's quick interjection, "_Bones!_"

"How old do you think I am, hon?" Arlene gave her a droll look, doing a quick double take when Brennan replied matter-of-factly,

"Judging by the loss of elasticity in your epidermal layers and wasting of your musculature together with evidence of osteoporosis and scoliosis in your skeletal structure I'd say about sixty six or sixty seven." Brennan paused, politely waiting for an answer to her enquiry.

"I'm pleading the fifth on that one, and yes, I had wireless broadband installed for when the grandkids come and visit."

Brennan gave her partner the benefit of her clear-eyed gaze. "Then I think it's a very sensible proposition Booth, and I don't understand your objection." Booth smiled awkwardly, looking from one woman to the other, but remained silent. He knew when he was between a rock and a hard place.

"I need to call Angela, and get an update from Hodgins." Brennan collected her handbag and cell phone from the table, anxious to get started.

"Well, that's settled then." Arlene nodded emphatically, sweeping past them with Brennan dogging her heels. Arlene paused at the door, looking over her shoulder at Booth with a satisfied smile. "Come on, Mr Booth, let's get you and your lovely lady comfortable for the night."

* * *

No limericks this time, but I'd love it if you told me what you think ... am I on the right track here? If you're reading, I'd love to hear from you XD!


	10. They keep time by

A/N: Thanks as always to pax mundi, whose talent and encouragement are perpetually inspiring. And who comes from way, way beyond Planet Bad Ass.

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

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Chapter Ten: They keep time by …

* * *

"Sweetie – _finally_!" Angela's voice was strident, her anxiety adding an edge to her voice that was amplified by the echoing phone line. "Are you two okay?"

"We're fine, really Angela." Brennan felt like she'd said 'fine' at least a hundred times so far this morning. She was in reality tired and irritable, but there was little to no chance that she'd admit that to Angela just now. Booth's concern she could tolerate – just – but Angela was capable of frog marching Hodgins to his fastest car and getting him to drive both of them to downtown Weston to make sure she was okay. "We were very fortunate, although the SUV is no longer roadworthy." Booth was wandering around the rooms, opening doors and looking in cupboards. When he heard Brennan's comment, he couldn't contain a disgusted grunt.

"What happened to you? Why haven't you been in touch?"

"Angela, if it wasn't for you, Booth and I would be stranded on a back road up in the hills somewhere. Booth crashed the truck and we had to spend the night in the SUV."

"Hey – tell her about the brakes, Bones!" Booth called out from the pocket sized kitchenette, his ego bruised at her words. She went on, ignoring the interruption, "If you hadn't called the local sheriff, we'd probably still be there."

"Wait a minute." Angela's voice suddenly dropped an octave. "You and Booth were stranded in the truck overnight and my phone call got you rescued and broke up your private party?"

"Er - yes. Thank you."

"Uh-huh. You and Booth, stranded in the SUV, all night?"

"Yes." Booth poked his head out of the kitchenette and Brennan swung around to him, whispering as an aside to him "I think there's a problem with the line, but I can hear her fine." She turned back to the phone. "I can hear you fine, Ange, can you hear me okay?"

"I'm hearing you loud and clear, sweetie." Angela assured her dryly. "And you're both okay?"

Booth butted in, saying emphatically, "I did not crash the car, there was a problem with the brakes – tell her, Bones!"

"Yes, I told you we're fine." Brennan's face was screwed up in confusion.

"Alone. Overnight. Unharmed but stranded." Disbelief edged Angela's voice. "And my phone call got you rescued. I don't believe it." You could hear the eye roll in the last sentence.

Brennan frowned. Why was Angela repeating everything she said? "Ange, I think there's a problem with this line." Missing Angela's point entirely, she raised her voice and carefully enunciated her words to try and assist her friend's comprehension of the situation, as if Angela had just got off the boat from Abu Dhabi and had a serious hearing problem. "We had an _accident_ but we're _fine_. Booth and I are going to be here for _while_ _longer_. I think we should organise a _video_ _conference_ later with everyone and run through the _evidence_ we have _so_ _far_."

Angela was silent for a few moments and when she came back on the line her voice was teasing. "Sweetie, you and I have got to have a talk about taking advantage of opportunities offered to you on a plate, and soon." She became more serious, "I'm glad you're both okay, Bren. I'll make sure everyone's here around one o'clock and we can do the video link then. I've got one sequence of the injuries ready to view; I'll relay that to you during the conference. Give me a call back when you're ready to rock and roll." She hung up before Brennan could say anything more, leaving her friend scowling at the phone.

"Which room do you want, Bones?" Booth called out. He was trying out the third bed having already bounced experimentally on the other two.

"I don't mind, you choose." She was distracted, partly by the strange conversation with Angela, and partly by the emails which were coming in thick and fast now that she'd set up her notebook. She scanned the subject lines, deciding all but two could wait; one from Jack Hodgins with some test results and one from Cam. A knock on the exterior door drew Booth out from the bedroom, and he opened it to find Deputy Hancock and another officer on the step with the gear from the SUV. While they stacked it just inside the door, Brennan started to read through Jack's email.

She was yawning widely when Booth came back with the rest of the gear. He watched her for a moment before dumping the bags with the others.

"Okay Bones, nap time." He shut the computer and grabbed her wrist, pulling her reluctantly to her feet.

"Hey, I was reading that." She protested through another yawn. "Dr Hodgins sent me those details of the animal species he found evidence of in the cave."

"Year, well it'll still be there in a couple of hours." He looked at his watch. "Why don't you grab some bunk time now while I go out and get us a rental. It'll be a chance for me to look over the SUV while it's at the county depot at the same time. And … I want to nose around the town." He gave her a little push towards one of the bedrooms and grabbed his coat. She looked at him rebelliously for a couple of seconds before another yawn stretched any dispute away. Lifting one side of her mouth in a resigned smile, she gave in to his suggestion.

~o0o~

"There's no doubt about it, Agent Booth. The brake line was cut, and by somebody who knew what they were doing." The mechanic wiped his hands on an oily rag, nodding towards the SUV. "This is essentially an off road vehicle; the brake lines are protected by a polycarbonate casing, along with a lot of the electricals and so forth, so that if you're driving over rough country the risk of undercarriage damage is limited. Whoever did this pried the casing off and nicked the fluid line. That's why you didn't get any alarms going off, and why it took a few miles before you lost hydraulic pressure." Booth thanked him for his help, unsurprised by his conclusions. Charlie had organised a flat bed to pick the truck up later in the day and take it back to DC so that the FBI forensic techs could go over it. If luck was with him they'd lift a print and he'd be able to lean heavily on whoever it was that had played with their lives.

He stood on the sidewalk outside the depot for a moment, his jaw flexing in anger at the reminder of just how close they had come to being seriously injured, or worse. The morning traffic rumbled by in front of him but he watched it with unseeing eyes.

~o0o~

Booth let himself back into the unit silently. Soft snuffling noises emanating from the direction of the bedrooms told him that Bones was still asleep. He checked his watch; he'd been gone just under two hours. He busied himself with transferring the evidence kit and other worked related gear into the rental, put on a pot of coffee that Arlene had thoughtfully set up earlier, and settled down on the sofa with a plate load of 'nanner puddin', deciding that now was the time to find out exactly what it was.

"You're going to gain weight." Brennan stood in the doorway, sniffing the air appreciatively.

"Aw, Bones, this stuff is amazing. It's got bananas and biscuits and – I dunno – other stuff. Parker would go crazy for it." He whipped his eyes over her crumpled appearance. "Nice bed hair, by the way."

She looked at the food dispassionately, wanting to retaliate for the dig at her hair. "I'm sure any _child_ would enjoy such a confection."

This only made Booth laugh as he dug into the sweet again. "It's pudding, Bones. You know how I feel about pudding." Brennan ignored him and went into the kitchenette, returning a few moments later with two steaming mugs of coffee. Booth took the one she offered him with a smile of thanks, and she sat down at the other end of the sofa.

"What do we do now?"

"Well," he scraped the last vestiges of the pudding from his plate and set it aside, "Hillyard hasn't tracked down Sally Beaumont or her son yet, so that will have to wait for now. While I was out I got talking to a couple of old geezers outside the library. They were friendly enough, and knew who Ethan Williams was. Neither of them seemed surprised when I asked about Gareth Burbridge at the same time either. One of them even went so far as to lump them both together when he complained about the amount of vandalism the town had seen over the past ten years or so. I think we'll head back and have another talk to Burbridge." He stood up, pacing, while he flipped his phone open and organised the interview in a few short sentences. "We've got a little while before we need to leave – he's on an outside work detail so they have to transport him back. I'm going to change back into my own clothes; Hillyard's carrying a few extra pounds around the waist and these pants are starting to annoy me." He stood up, patting his washboard stomach, and gave Brennan a smirk. His conceited pleasure at scoring one over the sheriff went straight over her head.

"Good idea. Where are my clothes?"

"Ah …" Suddenly Booth's smirk froze on his face. Acute embarrassment hit him and a flush rose up his neck and stained his cheeks.

"What?" Brennan turned to look at him when he didn't reply.

"Ah … nothing." Their clothes were tumbled together in the washing basket that Arlene had left sitting on the tiny dining table. He couldn't have been less inclined to plunge his hands in if it had been a basketful of snakes. Jeez, did they have to be black? He was suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of the circumstances.

Brennan appeared at his elbow and pragmatically sorted through the basket, pulling her things into her arms. "I'll just be a minute." She flashed him a quick smile and disappeared into her room to change.

Booth shut his eyes and let his head drop back, cursing himself for a fool. What was it about this woman that had the capacity to turn him into a gibbering idiot in these situations?

~o0o~

"Cam's email confirmed that she had the results back from the tox screen – there were no drugs in the victim's system at the time of death, nothing suspicious at all. Also, I had another look at Dr Hodgins' email; he completed the analysis of the rest of the soil and hair samples from the cave. On top of his initial findings from the blood in the soil, he got confirmation from the hair samples - the medullary index and scale pattern of the cuticle indicated a range of animals and he's identified several specific species." They were in the rental sedan, but hadn't set off yet.

"Uh-huh." Booth was still a little on edge, wondering whether she'd comment on his odd behaviour. If she started in on him with some anthropological hooey on his reasons for his embarrassment he didn't think he could stand it.

"I thought it might be worthwhile to cross check the information against the cruelty cases that Sheriff Hillyard mentioned. What do you think – should we call in on our way to the prison?"

"Great idea, Bones." Relief flooded through him when she stuck to work topics and he gunned the engine, abruptly spinning the car into a u-turn to head to the Sheriff's office. "If they match up, it probably won't prove anything, but it's one more piece of the puzzle, and we can use all the pieces we can get."

~o0o~

"Dr Brennan, Agent Booth – it does my heart good to see you both looking so rested up!" Arlene greeted them with a wide smile. "Matt's out at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?"

"The Sheriff mentioned he had some statistics relating to animal cruelty cases in the area." Brennan was all business as usual. "Do you have access to that information?"

Arlene bustled over to the computer screen behind the counter, indicating that Brennan should take a seat. With a few deft keystrokes she got the information on the screen, moving aside so that Brennan could access the spreadsheet.

"May I send a copy of that to my office?" Booth asked. Arlene nodded and rapidly sent a copy to the email address he gave her. She turned back to him, a troubled frown pleating her forehead. "You know, Agent Booth, I'm right glad you called in. I got to thinking on what you asked about Ethan Williams and Gareth Burbridge and I just got off the phone with old Helen Montgomery over at Mount Zion retirement village. She was the teacher at the high school for about a hundred years. She's got some stories to tell, that's for sure, about all the kids, but about those two in particular. She remembered the incident that got Gareth's parents so hot under the collar like it was yesterday, and apparently Ethan Williams was up to his neck in it as well. The whole thing got hushed up like I said, but Helen was there. She wouldn't give me details, said she was bound by confidentiality or some such nonsense, but it had something to do with them taking a youngun from the elementary school." Her button eyes shone with anger, "Now if that don't sound like something you should know, I don't know what does. You can probably get the whole story from the School Board – the records are closed, but you won't have any trouble getting around that."

"I can get whatever I need, as long as I know where to look." Booth's look was grim, but he smiled when he looked back down at her. "Arlene, you've been amazing. I don't know how to thank you."

Arlene blushed at his compliment, her cheeks rosier than usual, but her eyes remained sad. "Go on with you. If Ethan Williams had anything to do with that little girl's death, I hope he burns in hell. And if I can do anything to send him there any quicker, I'll do it."

~o0o~

The scene at Gilmer Federal Prison was almost identical to their last visit; the scattering of orange-suited inmates listlessly tidying the parking lot, the taunts and coarse proposals directed at his partner, despite his efforts to shield her bodily from their view. Even the sun had decided to make another appearance and lend the morning its heat, however briefly.

Burbridge, if anything, was even more nervous at this second meeting; he seemed almost paralysed by fear when Booth and Brennan entered the interview room, his eyes bulging at them rabbit-like, his Adam's apple bobbing wildly.

The partners took their seat without a word, the only sound breaking the silence the chink of the handcuffs that held Burbridge to his seat. He watched the guard leave the room with wild eyes, the light going out of them when the door closed, leaving him behind in the room. Without that fetter Booth had no doubt that Burbridge would have made a dash for the door.

"You seem a bit on edge, Burbridge. What's the matter? Something you forgot to tell us last time we saw you?" Booth softly baited the prisoner, playing on his patent fear. "We've just heard how you and Ethan Williams have been friends since school. Had the same sort of hobbies, maybe?" Booth leaned back in his chair, radiating self-assurance. Burbridge tried to keep his eyes fixed on a point in the corner of the room and his mouth firmly shut, but he continued to sneak tiny side glances at his interrogators every few seconds. Booth glanced at Brennan and she raised her brows, not sure how he wanted to proceed. Arlene's revelation about this man's connection with Ethan burned at both of them. Brennan watched the emotions flicker over Burbridge's face; fear, disgust, desperation and finally resignation. He knew he was cornered and he was scared.

"You don't know what he's like, what he's always been like. If I tell you what I know, I may as well be dead. I've got at least three more years in here, and he's got a lot of friends." Burbridge's voice had taken on a whining edge. "He's just a kid, but he's evil." His shoulders slumped, and suddenly the fight went out of him. "I'm not like him. I'm really not. It all started again when they put us in the same cell." This was news, and Booth leaned forward eagerly.

With some prompting the story came tumbling out: Williams and Burbridge had been cellmates for a short period during Williams' incarceration. He had taken their brief association as youths and manipulated Burbridge into acting as his gopher in the prison. As a result Burbridge was implicated in the racketeering that Williams quickly gained control of within the cell block. Williams had him under his thumb again.

Booth raised the incident with the young boy from several years ago and Burbridge responded forcefully, hysteria edging into his voice.

"I had nothing to do with what happened to that little boy in school. Hank was a lot younger than me, but already he was big, physically larger, and he has this – I don't know - power, presence … call it charisma if you have to call it something. He had a group of kids that followed him everywhere, and I was on the edge of that. I was trying to take the little boy back home when the police found us. No-one believed me then, and you probably won't believe me now, but I was trying to help. Because I was the oldest, everyone just assumed that it was my idea. My parents used their influence to make sure I wasn't charged, and then packed me off to boarding school. I didn't see Hank again until I was sent here.

"He's sick. He fantasises about hurting people all the time. He gets off on pain. It's like a game to him. Night after night I had to listen to his sick plans. I swear, when I escaped, I headed to that cave on sheer instinct. If Hank had been there, it was nothing to do with me or anything I knew or didn't know. It's a complete coincidence. You've got to believe me." His eyes pleaded with them. His entire body pressed forward to lend weight to his plea, dragging against his restraints.

Booth eyed him dispassionately, unmoved by his entreaties. "Where is Ethan Williams?"

"I don't know. If I knew I would tell you, I swear. I don't know. I don't know anything. I don't … " At that Burbridge broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. He had nothing more to give them.

~o0o~

They were in the car heading back to town, "What do you think, Bones?"

"Well, I think that Gareth Burbridge is very afraid of Williams." Brennan recalled the look of abject terror in his eyes when he spoke of the other man. She was the first to admit that she didn't read people as well as Booth, but even she could see his palpable fear. "His physiological reactions –the effects of the production of excess adrenalin and dopamine such as profuse sweating – were marked."

"Yeah, that came across pretty strong. Do you think he was telling the truth? He seemed to come clean pretty fast. Maybe too fast?" Booth's eyes were narrowed and ran through the interview in his mind.

"That's your area of expertise, but if I was pushed I'd have to say, yes – I believe he was telling the truth."

"Mmmm. That's what I think. I don't believe he had anything to do with this child's murder. I think he is weak man who is easily led. I'm looking forward to finally meeting this Williams character – he sounds like someone I'm really going to enjoy putting away." Brennan glanced over at her partner and was unsurprised to see the determined set to his jaw, his eyes widened slightly in anticipation at the thrill of the hunt.

~o0o~

"Hey Brennan, looks like you've got a sweet crib there." Angela's face loomed large on the screen as if leaning closer would give her a better view.

"Huh?" Brennan was spreading the file over the coffee table, organising stacks of papers. Booth was sprawled at the other end of the couch, his ankle resting on one knee, thumbing through the text messages on his phone.

"Where are you staying? It looks nice." Angela's tone invited full disclosure, but Brennan's reply was unsatisfying.

"Yes, Arlene Mitchell works for the sheriff's office here and she's been good enough to put us up at her home."

"Looks cosy." For once Angela limited herself to that simple comment, practicing restraint even though she was dying to ask for more details. Hodgins and Zach came to stand behind her and a moment later Lance Sweets and Dr Saroyan joined them. The whole team was finally together for the first time in several days.

Brennan got straight down to business. "Dr Saroyan, I note that nothing was revealed by the tox screen. Do you have any other findings that might be germane to the investigation?"

"Dr Brennan." Cam had a lovely smile, even when it was frozen in place. "Nice to see you too, I'm glad everything's okay."

Booth leant forward so that he was in the range of the web camera. "Thanks, Cam. We're fine. We had some trouble, but it's all worked out okay." He winked into the lens, ignoring Brennan's efforts to get him to move out of the way. "Bones hasn't been very well, so go easy on her."

"Stop it, Booth." She regained her position, only to find the members of her team regarding her with varying expressions of concern. Zack in particular was anxious; he had never known his boss to be sick in all the time he'd worked with her; she seemed able to deflect everything except bullets.

"I'm fine." _Fine, fine, fine._ "Just a mild transitory viral infection. Can we move on?" Impatience tinged her voice before she calmed down. "I'm sorry, Dr Saroyan, you were saying?"

"Nothing on the tox screen and nothing to change my mind from my original findings. I still believe that the victim died from a myocardial infarction as a result of a clot. The other evidence we've compiled leads me to believe that the clot was as a result of trauma prior to her death, but no other possible cause of death has been revealed from our investigations."

Brennan nodded, for the moment frustrated that she wasn't back at the lab. Even though she had herself examined the skeletal remains extensively, and she trusted her assistant's meticulous methods implicitly, she firmly believed that the bones would always reveal the answers.

"Zack?"

"Yes Dr Brennan?" Zack's disembodied voice answered immediately.

"What else have you found?"

Zack elbowed Hodgins out of the way and placed himself squarely in front of the web cam. "I've identified the patterning on the clothing." His boyish face disappeared and instead there was a picture of the original singeing. As they watched the patterns separated into two distinct images. Booth edged over to study the screen, squashing up against his partner, who objected loudly. Zach waited until they'd settled their squabble before continuing, "I believe one is a bed base, the other is some sort of coiled tubing. Hodgins identified the metal as copper."

Booth leant forward to study the image more closely. "Hang on a minute, I know what that is. Coiled tubing is used often in distilling alcohol." He turned to Brennan eagerly. "Bones, where do you think we might find a still around here?"

"I know you want me to say the Williams place, but I've been led to believe that illegal backyard distilling is a fairly common past-time here?" Her response was matter-of-fact.

"Maybe, but it just might be enough to get a warrant, depending on what else your squints have come up with? Hodgins, would you be able to confirm a match if I can get you a sample of the tubing?" Booth's excitement was mounting.

"Sure thing, man. You get me a sample and I'll tell you definitively." Zach's graphics had given way to a view of the room and its occupants.

"Anything come up on the missing persons' database, Ange?" Booth still held out hope that someone somewhere cared enough the have raised the alarm.

"Zip, zilch, zero, nada. Sorry, Booth." Angela's face reflected her regret and her eyes instinctively sought out Hodgins'.

"Damn." His hands formed into tight fists, and Brennan reflexively covered his hand with one of her own in a show of sympathy and comfort. The brief touch went unnoticed by everyone except Dr Sweets, who stored it away for future contemplative investigation.

Brennan had already refocused. "Angela, can we see what you put together on the computer?"

"Yeah sure, sweetie. I'll get it up now. I had hoped to have more to show you, but I've had a lot of trouble trying to work out how it all fits together. This is what I've got."

She set the holographic image going once more, still deeply affected by the image it projected. Brennan and Booth were silent while the loop played over several times on screen.

Cam's voice came over the image, "Zack thinks she's using a scythe." Doubt was heavy in her tone. "I don't know whether that's possible, but nothing else seems to fit that particular pattern."

Brennan studied the image for a few seconds more. "I think Zack could be right. The extension on the left scapula gives the movement a particular force at the lower end of the reflexive arc that would support that. Watching it on the video link like this flattens the image, but this is still an effective rendering of the sequence of injuries." She turned to her partner, "Booth, what do you think, is it possible the victim could have used a scythe?"

"I guess so." Booth's brow was heavily furrowed, his mouth pulled back in consideration of the possibility. "Although lots of people around here work for the big mining companies, this is still essentially a rural community. Farming, whether it's on a large or small scale, is still something that most people have a hand in. One thing I've noticed when we've been driving around is that if there's a patch of ground available, there'll be something planted in it that can be harvested."

"How about we add in the moonshine factor?" Jack Hodgins came forward as he spoke. "Do you think it's possible that the grain for that would be harvested by hand?"

"I'd have thought that most people would use some sort of mechanical means, like a tractor-pulled thresher or something. Although nothing about this case has been typical so far." Booth scratched his chin, deep in thought.

Angela cut in, "Have a look at what I've got so far for the other recent injuries. I think you've established that the greenstick fracture on her left thumb was caused by someone bending it back until it broke." The image flashed across the screen. "This injury had to have been inflicted on purpose."

Brennan was nodding. "It's a characteristic injury in domestic abuse."

"Don't forget there was some bruising that would fit in with that picture." Cam added.

Angela continued, "Bren, you said that the older breaks could have been from falls?"

"The amount of torsion on the break on the ulna indicates a fall rather than a crush injury or impact with a heavy object." Brennan paused to find her original notes in the copy file they had. "The other old break that exhibited malformed remodelling was of the right humerus. Zack, were you able to find any overlaying injuries on either of these breaks?"

"No, Dr Brennan. I established that the break to the humerus was the older injury, also caused by a fall as you originally identified, but there was no evidence of more recent injuries at those sites.

"Did she fall or was she pushed?" Booth muttered.

"There's no way of knowing from the evidence we have." Brennan replied abruptly, not realising that the question was rhetorical. "Dr Hodgins, did you get anything else from the samples or the clothing and other items I sent you?" Brennan asked. She shot a quick look at Booth, surprised to find his face so close to hers. He returned her look blandly, but sat back a little at her slight frown, letting his arm rest along the back of the couch behind her shoulders.

"Mostly confirmation of what we already knew; DNA from our victim, Ethan Williams and Gareth Burbridge, plus the hair sample that matches the unidentified sample from the Front Royal site. I've established that it's from a Caucasian female, and I'm running DNA on the one root bulb that I could get. It might not be enough for a definitive result. As for the clothes, there were strong traces of ethyl alcohol on them, identical to that which was on the clothing we found on the victim. I can absolutely confirm that both samples came from the same source. The blanket had a mix of other fibres, nothing that stands out as anything significant, but did contain a mass of canine hairs, all from the same animal."

"Puddin." Booth and Brennan said together.

"Who or what is Puddin?" It was Jack who voiced the question. "Something we should know about, Booth?" He taunted laughingly.

"Yeah, yuck it up man who plays with bugs." Booth turned up his lip derisively at Hodgins. "We've got a line on a possible identity for our victim, although the details are sketchy. She had a puppy, and if it's the same dog, we're finally on the right track. We'll make sure you get a sample." Booth explained, before changing tack. "Is Sweets there?"

The dark haired psychologist came forward, "How can I help, Agent Booth?"

"Sweets, can you confirm whether the information we have on Ethan Williams fits with someone who could have tortured and murdered our victim?"

"Certainly it is in line with an escalation in violence, someone who needs to inflict more and more pain or suffering to gain the same amount of gratification. It's pretty standard stuff, in some respects. But I'd need more specific information to say whether this Williams could be your perpetrator."

"Get hold of Charlie at my office. He should have all the information you need, including the closed School Board file by now." Sweets nodded rapidly, keen to commence his analysis straight away. Booth stood up, moving away to use his cell phone to check in with his own office.

Brennan bought the meeting to a close, and the scientists filed out of the office leaving Angela alone on the screen. Her face was a picture of contrition.

"Sweetie, are you really okay? I didn't know you were actually sick. What I said before about being sorry my call got you rescued, you know I was only joking, don't you?" Brennan hadn't realised this, of course, but she could see that her friend was concerned. She smiled back at her, eager to set her mind at rest.

"Ange, we were never in any real danger," A tiny white lie that hurt no-one, to reassure her friend, "and everything worked out fine." She glanced surreptitiously at her partner, who was still deeply involved in his call. "Booth made it kind of fun, actually. He can be surprisingly good company, but don't tell him that."

"Don't tell who what?" Booth's voice in her ear as he leant over the back of the couch made her jump awkwardly, which in turn made Angela giggle with delight. Before she could put her thoughts into words, Booth's cell phone rang again and he straightened, backing away to talk without interrupting them.

"Seriously, Bren, that man's the real deal. Tiny word of advice? Remember, what happens in Weston stays in Weston." Angela was looking at her intently, apparently waiting for a reply.

"Ye-es." Brennan replied, agreeing with the statement but not sure how to respond to such a non sequitur.

"Hey, Bones, come on." Booth held his cell phone up and waved it at her, excitement revving his stance. "Hillyard's found the kid. He's at the soft interview room at the sheriff's office now."

"Angela, I've got to go. This could be the break we've been looking for." Ange watched her friend's face light up as Booth flung his arm around her shoulders, chivvying her out of the scope of the web cam before she could finalise the call. The last thing Angela heard before she broke the connection was Brennan's voice scolding Booth, and Booth's laughing response.

* * *

Well, there you go … hope you're enjoying the story – thanks for reading! Some interesting developments coming up, but then, you knew there would be, didn't ya?

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and alerted – warms the cockles of my heart. As a very wise person told me recently, reviews feed the writer's soul. They were soooooo right! And I'm soooooo hungry! I'd really appreciate hearing what you thought about this chap. Cheers!


	11. What a Show

_A/N: Thanks PM, for your kind words and keeping me on track. (L) Wish you weren't so far away!_

_Thanks to everyone for reviews and alerts … please review, we're almost at the end and I'd love to hear where you think it's going._

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

* * *

Chapter Eleven: What a show …

* * *

"Are you really an FBI Agent? Do you have a gun? Can I see it? Have you ever shot anyone?" The questions tumbled out without pause, Jerry Beaumont's eyes darting around the room as he spoke, never resting on any one person or thing for more than a couple of seconds.

"Special Agent Booth is a very accomplished man and he is an excellent marksman." Brennan responded solemnly, her pride in her partner's accomplishments obvious and Booth was a little taken aback at the warmth in her voice. She went on, "Also, he used to be a Ranger." The child continued to stare at Booth, looking awestruck, then turned his clear eyed gaze to Brennan, "Does that make you Tonto?" Brennan just looked blank, but beside her Booth sniggered. His rearranged his features to reflect the seriousness of the occasion when Brennan swung indignantly towards him, and he turned his attention back to the boy.

"What are you, a midget stand-up comic?" He was looking at the boy in surprise, but included Brennan when she corrected him in a subdued voice, "That's not the culturally correct term, Booth, you should say 'little person' not 'midg…" Her voice trailed off as his expression morphed to incredulous.

"It's just an expression, Bones, it has nothing to do with being _'culturally correct'_."

"That makes it all the more pertinent." She replied primly.

"You don't get it, I was just commenting on him talking like an adult but still being a little kid."

"Then it might be more appropriate to suggest he is a homunculus."

"A hermuncle what?" Booth's eyebrows shot up, his brow deeply furrowed. "Is that French?"

Jerry started to giggle. "She means a perfectly formed small human being, dummy." His mother, who had remained sullenly silent throughout the exchange, suddenly reached out and clipped the small boy sharply around the ear, dislodging his glasses.

"Jeremiah Ezekiel Beaumont you watch your mouth and be respectful, you hear?" Her voice was harsh and the boy looked haunted.

"Mrs Beaumont, there's no need for that." Booth spoke quietly but had half stood, the intensity of his glare causing the woman to flinch away from him instinctively, but Brennan's hand on his arm stilled him. He eased back into his seat again and continued gently,

"Jerry, it's okay. You're a really bright kid, I can see that." Booth gave the boy a genuinely friendly smile. "Maybe you could tell me what you know about the little girl you told Dr Brennan about, the one who lived in the cave?"

Jerry swiped the back of his hand over his eyes to dry the tears that hung on his lashes, not so much physically hurt as ashamed that his mother would treat him like that in front of these important people from Washington DC. He returned Booth's gaze surreptitiously under cover of replacing his glasses, finding nothing but kindness on the big man's face. His smile was tentative but quavered slightly.

"Maddy?" Jerry asked. Booth nodded encouragingly and the boy continued. "Maddy's great. She really likes me and she laughs at my jokes. And she doesn't laugh at _me_."

"She sounds really nice. You two must be good friends. Where's Maddy now?" Booth asked softly, watching carefully as Jerry's expression clouded. The boy dropped his chin down to his chest and worried a scratch on the table top with one of his fingernails. "I don't know. I haven't seen her for a bit."

Brennan tilted her head, trying to gain eye contact with their subject, "Exactly when did you last see Maddy?" Booth frowned at the abrupt question, but Jerry seemed to respond to Brennan's directness. He looked at her with renewed interest.

"You're a doctor, aren't you?" he asked curiously.

Brennan wasn't sure whether to answer his questions, but she saw Booth nod slightly out of the corner of her eye, encouraging her. "Yes I am."

"What sort of doctor? Do you cut people open?" His wide eyed face was ingenuous and Brennan felt herself being charmed, but she heard Booth mutter under his breath, "Bloodthirsty little so-and-so, isn't he?"

Brennan bit down on a grin, but answered the question seriously. "I'm a forensic anthropologist."

"Is that a real doctor?" The child's tone was deeply sceptical.

"I have a doctorate." She glanced at Booth for help.

"I think he means are you a medical doctor, Bones." Booth explained.

"Oh. I don't practice medicine. Forensic anthropology is the application of the science of physical anthropology and human osteology. I identify skeletal remains for the FBI."

"Skeletal remains?" Jerry's tongue tripped slightly on the new term, but he made a connection almost immediately. "So that's why Agent Booth called you Bones!" His mind ticked over for a moment more and then his face fell, a scared look coming into his eyes. When he spoke again he answered Brennan's original question. "Near's I can tell I saw Maddy ten days ago. I took her some chocolate – she loves chocolate – and some table scraps for Puddin – that's her dog – and we read some. She's itching to learn to read and I know can teach her. I got a book from the library, a reader, and we usually spend some time every day while I teach her the alphabet. She's doing really well. She's pretty smart - I don't understand why she can't read already, but it's something she really wants to do." Brennan and Booth exchanged looks. "When I went there the next day she wasn't there and I figured -" He stopped abruptly, and his eyes shifted away from Brennan's.

Suddenly he brightened, "Do you know why Maddy likes chocolate so much?" He went on without waiting for an answer, speaking so rapidly that his words started to run together. "The chemicals that are in chocolate act on your brain chemistry and make you feel good. They're called endorphins." He said this last carefully, with pride in his voice, and swivelled his chair from side to side impudently.

"More accurately," Brennan corrected automatically, "it's believed that chocolate consumption stimulates the release of serotonin and endorphin into the body, which combine to produce a short term euphoric feeling." Jerry looked up, his eyes bright. "Chocolate contains sugar, theobromine, tryptophan – which is a precursor to serotonin, phenethylamine and a small amount of caffeine. Did you know that recent studies found that chocolate also contains anandamide, which activates the same target that cannabis does? In fact, there are two chocolate ingredients that inhibit the natural breakdown of anandamide, which could lead to heightened levels of anandamide in the brain. You only need about a third of an ounce of chocolate to get the effect."

"Really?" Booth was interested in spite of himself, before annoyance at getting sidetracked kicked in. He turned back to the young boy, who was hanging on Brennan's every word like a groupie. He frowned at his partner, not angry with her, but he needed to get the interview back on track. He felt his pulse quicken. Could this little boy hold the key to the entire investigation?

Booth looked at the boy narrowly, "Can you tell me what Maddy looks like?"

"Sure. She's a little bit shorter than me, and her hair is brown like mine only darker, and she has freckles and she's really skinny. She's got brown eyes and her teeth are kind of weird looking, I don't know why. Oh – one of them fell out a while back, but she said it didn't hurt or anything."

Brennan leant close to Booth's ear and spoke to him in an undertone. "Root damage as a result of malnutrition, possibly so advanced there'd be a lack of sensation."

"Anything else you can think of?" Booth pressed Jerry for more, needing as much as he could get although he was now convinced Maddy was their victim.

Jerry looked up at the ceiling and considered the question, directing his answer to Brennan. "Mmmm, she favoured her right leg a might. And they -" He skittered a nervous look at his mother, but didn't pause more than a heartbeat. "- she had a bad thumb, but it was getting better."

Brennan raised her brows and smiled, impressed. "You're very observant."

"Yep." He agreed without pride. "I like to test myself on how many things I can remember just by looking at something once."

Brennan pulled Angela's sketch out of the file and slid it across the table. "Does this look like your friend?" Jerry smiled and nodded, touching a finger to the drawing. "That's Maddy all right, 'cept her hair is shorter." He looked up at Brennan hesitantly, "C-can I have this?"

"I don't see why not." There were several copies on the file. She pushed the drawing closer to the boy, who carefully rolled it up and secured it with an elastic band he produced from his pocket. His smile reflected the pleasure he got from the small gift.

"So," Brennan asked, "what's Maddy's last name?"

Jerry frowned, "I don't think she's got one, or at least, she never told me and I never asked."

While Brennan digested this, Booth took the interview up a notch. "Jerry, you told Dr Brennan that Ethan Williams hurt Maddy. What did you mean by that? How did he hurt her?" Booth kept his tone casual.

Silence. Jerry stared at Booth, but there was no fear or trepidation in his expression, merely interest. He looked as if he was waiting for something.

"Did you see Ethan Williams hurt your friend?"

More silence, the same look. Sally Beaumont shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her sullen expression gradually transforming into fury at what she perceived as her son's obstinacy. She flicked a glance to Booth, but his returning glare kept her still. She looked at Jerry with what could only be described as distaste, and Brennan was shocked to realise that this woman did not like her little boy. She felt an unexpected sting of tears, and was shocked again by her reaction to the knowledge. Her eyes sought out Booth's and she found him watching her solemnly. His expression softened when he met her look; he understood her reaction because he was feeling something along those lines himself.

Brennan turned back to Jerry, putting her hands on the table and spreading her fingers wide in a gesture that seemed to fascinate the boy. He mimicked her pose, stretching his hands out until their fingertips were almost touching. Brennan felt a smile spread across her face; in his own way, this small child was comforting her. She was enchanted. She leant forward, and said gently "What happened, Jerry?"

He looked back at Brennan trustingly, and a sigh escaped his lips. As he opened his mouth to speak, Sally Beaumont shifted sharply in her chair, the squeak of the wooden frame catching his attention. He looked over to her and whatever he saw in her expression made his eyes widen. He bit down on his lower lip, a shiver running through his narrow frame. He shook his head slowly.

"Nothing happened." He looked back at Brennan, a plea implicit in his pinched features. "Nothing happened. Nothing happened." He turned to his mother, "I want to go home." The woman stood abruptly and gripped her son's upper arm with one white-knuckled hand, making him wince.

"We done here?" Without waiting for an answer she pushed Jerry in front of her towards the door. With one last glare directed at Brennan, Sally Beaumont propelled her son unceremoniously out of the room.

"Wh-what happened then?" Brennan was perturbed, troubled by the woman's venomous look. "Did I do something wrong?"

Booth ran his hand across the back of his neck, his expression sympathetic. "Not a thing Bones, you did great." She had really connected with the boy, maybe too easily if the mother's apparent resentment of her was anything to go by. Booth had watched Sally Beaumont's face as Brennan spoke to her son, and thought he'd seen hurt cloud her eyes for a moment when Jerry had responded so openly to Brennan's questions.

"What do you mean? I thought Jerry might be able to tell us something significant about all this." She looked directly at him, her expression regretful. "I thought … maybe this time …"

"What? That you'd crack the case?" His lopsided grin charmed her as he knew it would and the beginnings of a smile began to curl her lips.

"I really thought he was going to tell me something that would help us. I guess I was wrong." She looked over to him, her expression rueful. "I'm no good at this part of things."

Booth scooted his chair up close to hers and sought out her eyes. "You're good at this, Bones." he told her firmly. "You're good at a lot of it."

"Well objectively I _am_ good at a great many things." Her superior tone didn't deflect his sympathy,

"So you've told me. Over and over again." Booth responded with dry humour. "And in this instance we learned something really important."

Suspicion clouded her expression, "Is this one of those times where you're saying that to make me feel better, like I'm actually contributing to this part of the process? Jerry didn't tell us anything useful."

"Ah ha!" He exclaimed, leaning back in the chair. "First I don't have any doubt that our victim is Maddy. I know we strongly suspected it, but now I'm sure. Secondly, his mother couldn't have told us more if she'd tried." He put his hands behind his head and looked at her triumphantly.

"But … she barely said a word." Brennan had missed the interplay between the woman and her son, and had seen nothing significant on the mother's face apart from that one look of distaste.

"Yeah, it's what she didn't say that was useful."

"That makes no sense – how can _not_ saying something be helpful?" She screwed her mouth to one side, her expression quizzical.

The look Booth gave her was full of irony, "I'll explain it to you one day." He went on, "Didn't you see the look she gave her son when it looked like he was going to open up to you?"

Brennan lips pressed together in an annoyed line sending wrinkles to the bridge of her nose. "I saw the look she gave me when they left. I don't like her."

"Yeah, well, I think the feeling's mutual. No, before that. She didn't want us to talk to him in the first place, but there wasn't anything she could do about it without it looking weird. Jerry took his cues from her. It's only natural that a little boy is going to do what his mom wants."

"So you're telling me that this was a good result." She still looked unsure, and his heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability exposed on her face. Temperance Brennan liked to be good at everything she did, and the fact that she lacked Booth's ability to read people undermined her confidence. She didn't fully comprehend that not many people even came close to possessing those same skills – in this Booth was at the top of his field.

"Uh huh, maybe not the best one, but yeah, my gut says a good result." Booth stood, extending a hand to her by habit, which she ignored by habit. "C'mon, let's go talk to Matt Dillon, see what he's got on the mom."

"Why do you insist on calling him that? His name is Matt Hillyard."

"Yeah, but 'Dillon' is so wrong it's just right."

"You're talking in circles." She was irked, and not responsive to his teasing just yet.

"Yeah, I know." Booth gave her a cheeky grin and ushered her out of the soft interview room, his hand warm at her waist.

~o0o~

"Take the next left." Brennan had a map spread over her lap and she was frowning in concentration. "No – right, right!" Too late, Booth missed the turn off, and Brennan glared at him.

He met her eyes, the grin that had sprung to his lips quickly masked when he saw her expression. He calmly pulled over, keeping his eyes fixed to the side mirror for a break in the traffic.

Matt Hillyard had put them onto the case worker from Family Services who looked after Sally and her son, and they were on their way to speak to him now at his home in Kanawha County. Tom Burton, the case worker, was off work with the flu and they'd opted to drive out to Clendenin to speak to him in person. Hopefully he would have some further insights to offer about Sally Beaumont. The woman's behaviour had definitely triggered Booth's radar. He could almost taste the trail and it was getting hotter, but this was one of those cases where he was starting to feel like they were chasing their tails.

"No problem." He said good-naturedly. Booth had watched her struggle with the map, but had decided to just let his usually unflappable partner run with it. Actually, it was sort of cute to see her get flustered like this.

"If we had a GPS - " Brennan tried and failed to keep her voice level, and her accusation hung between them.

"Hey, it's not my fault the rental company didn't have a car with a GPS available straight away." He retorted, indignation heating his response, even while he relished the prospect of a verbal tussle with her. The thought made him smile slightly, until another flash from those eyes of hers drove his amusement underground. It was turning into a frustrating day, and he could tell partner still hadn't shaken off the feeling of failure at the interview, despite his reassurances.

Brennan frowned again, turning back to the map to recheck directions. Truth be told, her aptitude for map reading was limited, but there was no way she was going to admit it now. "We should be coming up to a bridge in a couple of minutes." Sure enough, a mile or so later, they came to a rickety looking suspension bridge, a cobweb of thin wire cables strung almost haphazardly between crumbling limestone towers. Booth slowed to a stop, seriously doubting whether the shaky construction would even take the weight of the car.

He flicked a glance at his partner, but she kept her eyes resolutely to the front, her lips pursed stubbornly. With a slight shrug he inched the car onto the bridge, trying to keep a straight face as the deeply furrowed roadway sent heavy vibrations through the vehicle. By the end of the short bridge, they'd been jolted enough to send loose pens and a packet of candy skittering off the console. Booth took one look at his partner's face and burst out laughing – the juddering of the car had knocked her sunglasses askew. It only took a moment before Brennan's expression relaxed and her good humour was restored; she couldn't resist Booth's effervescence for long.

"It looked bigger on the map." She gave him an arch look from the sides of her eyes, which only served to increase his amusement. "C'mon, don't make fun of me Booth!" She looked at him pleadingly, a smile hovering around her lips. "Why don't you have a look at the map yourself?"

He took the proffered map, a smarmy look of superiority dancing across his face, and studied it for a moment or two.

"We just took a wrong turn outside Burnsville, but we can get back onto route 79 easy as." He refolded the map and handed it back to her. "It could've happened to anybody, it was a tricky turn off." He put the car into gear and continued in the direction they'd been heading.

"Hey, Bones, you're always telling me about how you've trekked through Upper Gazinkistan or interior Peru or the Outer Hebrides or wherever. How is it you can do all those things and you can't read a map?"

"There are guides and compasses and even GPS. Sometimes I even ask directions." She explained reasonably, and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Besides, I didn't say I couldn't read maps, just that I made a mistake." Her voice grew husky. "I'm not used to making mistakes."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Bones, even you. That's how we learn." He gave her a sidelong look. "Besides you've got a good excuse."

"Excuse? What do you mean?"

"Boy's genes, you don't have any boy's genes, so of course you got lost." He explained with mock seriousness.

"There's no such thing as boy's genes. You made that up. Besides, wouldn't your so called 'boy's genes' preclude you as a man from actually opening a map? Angela tells me that's something most men are incapable of. That, and asking directions." She looked at him levelly, but amusement sparked in her eyes.

"Oh, low blow, Bones." He pretended to look crushed. "Anyway, boy's genes are a proven scientific fact." He returned glibly. "If you don't have boy's genes, then it's physically impossible to read a map. You may as well just give up and _ask directions._" He glanced over and found her staring at him, her expression halfway between confusion and amusement. He smiled smugly and put his foot to the gas.

The rental threw up a cloud of dust as it hurtled along the back road, their voices still carrying as they each tried to out argue the other.

~o0o~

The sign on edge of town admonished _"Clendenin's Beauty is Everyone's Duty"._ It was a small town much like all the others they'd passed through on the way; a lot of empty shops in the main road, a lot of empty looks on the faces of the townspeople.

"Billy Joe 'The Man-Eater' Mantooth." Booth snapped his fingers, his voice elated.

"Where?" Brennan said in a preoccupied tone, having gone back to studying her map. She lifted her head and looked around myopically, expecting to see whoever Booth was talking about.

"Billy Joe Mantooth, All American, played for the Philly Eagles and the Oilers, back in the day. He came from Clendenin. I knew the place sounded familiar, but I couldn't remember why."

"How is that relevant?"

"It's not, it's just an interesting factoid." Booth warmed to his theme. "There was a game back in the early seventies against Penn State, he and Dennis Harris stopped the ball at the three, but the point went to Penn and Penn scored the winning touchdown off of it. Man, it was incredible."

"How can you possibly know that? You must have been what, two or three years old?" Brennan was deeply sceptical.

"Hey, it was a classic - it was the greatest play that wasn't. Just because you weren't walking the earth with the Ancient Egyptians doesn't mean you're not interested in knowing all about them, right?"

"True, but my interest stems from a search for knowledge and understanding of the social, physical and cultural development of humans."

Booth's look was wry. "Exactly. Mine too." Their eyes met and he could see her processing the idea. He indulged in a cheesy self-satisfied grin. "Hey, I think we're here." He brought the car to a halt in front of a sturdy timber bungalow.

"How - how did you do that – I haven't even found it on the map yet." She looked at him through narrowed eyes, but he just looked back at her blandly and raised one shoulder.

"Boy's genes." He said, as if it was the answer to everything. Brennan just snorted. "Eh, I have a knack with maps – it's one of my superpowers." He joked, loving the look his light hearted words brought to her face. Just for a second a picture of her in the Wonder Woman outfit flitted across his brain, and his mouth went dry.

A wire door creaked as Tom Burton came out of the house, distracting Brennan from replying. He'd apparently been on the lookout for them. A smile of welcome creased his face despite his obvious signs of the flu, his pudgy features filmed with perspiration. He shepherded them into the house and when they were settled in his front room, coffee cups filled and cake on a plate supplied by his beaming wife, he pulled a file out of his briefcase.

"Sally Beaumont." Booth watched a frown of displeasure cross Burton's features. "What do you need to know?"

"You don't like her?" He asked and Burton looked a little shamefaced.

"It doesn't matter whether I do or not. Both she and Jerry tend to be pretty high maintenance, so I usually see them once or twice a month, which is a lot. Sally's out of her depth with young Jerry. But he's a pocket rocket, all right – I like the boy and we get along really well. Sally is another thing entirely. I suspect she might have been a victim of abuse somewhere along the way, although there's nothing on record. It's more the way she treats her son. There's nothing essentially malevolent about her, it's more a conditioned response, but she can be spiteful. I'd be pretty safe in hazarding a guess that she doesn't know any other way. I'd really hate to see her son follow that route, which was one of the reasons I tried to discourage her from home schooling, but she was set on it. He needs to be with other kids his age, but even that is laden with problems because he gets teased so much."

"Teasing criticises yet compliments." Brennan interjected. "That can paradoxically have a positive effect on societal integration in an anthropological sense. Although the actuality can be unpleasant, it can be used to develop self reliance and independence. It's only when it escalates to bullying that other defences, those that develop in a perceived negative variant, come into play."

Booth was watching her with interest, all the while thinking she was venturing into a certain, and often maligned, soft science with her explanation. He remained silent while he considered what she was saying, and he realised her explanation had a personal edge.

She continued in a different vein. "Domestic abuse results in perceptible changes to brain function over time in over fifty percent of reported cases. Have you observed any physical impairment?"

"Are you asking do I think she has brain damage?"

"No. You're not qualified." Brennan replied immediately, but Burton took no notice of her hasty disclaimer and continued on blithely.

"From what I've seen I think that could fit with her behaviour, although to my knowledge she's never been assessed. She has trouble with her hearing too, but refuses to wear an aid, which may be coincidence or could add to the abuse conclusion. But it could equally be put down to damage on a psychological level." Brennan's carefully schooled features registered a faint curl of her lip that only Booth would recognise as expressing her derision of psychology. "It's unlikely she'd ever subject herself to testing; she's deeply distrustful of the medical profession and other forms of authority. I know she only tolerates me because she has to."

"I'm sure you put a lot of effort into building a relationship with the family." Booth observed.

Burton had looked downcast for a moment, but cheered slightly at the agent's comment. "I hope I've had a positive effect on them, and I know I've helped Jerry. We have him over here to play with my kids every now and then, and they all enjoy it. He blossoms with the contact."

"So, what do you know about her extended family, does she have any close relatives? She's from around here, right?" Booth asked.

"Surely is, born and bred in Lewis County. She has no contact with anyone from her family as far as I'm aware, which is a bit out of character around these parts – we tend to hold our family ties pretty dear - although she has mentioned in the past that she still has family right near. I know there are one or two close friends; a small support network."

They discussed the level of assistance that the family received for a few more minutes, but Booth could tell that Burton was flagging. He brought the interview to a close as it moved onto generalities, thanking Burton for his help.

Back in the car, Brennan seemed in a reflective mood. When she remained silent, Booth put the radio on softly, letting his partner work through whatever she was thinking about. He knew that she'd talk to him about it sooner or later.

They followed the Blue Ridge Parkway for part of the journey as it cut swathes through the awe inspiring scenery. Even with the windows up and the air conditioner on, the fresh clean smell of the oak-pine forest seeped into the car. As the forest began to be dominated by elms, maples and spruces, the scent subtly shifted. The miles rolled by silently but neither partner felt obliged to fill the silence with words; they were completely at ease with each other.

Booth's cell phone cut through the calm. He answered the call in his usual concise manner, listening for a few moments, before thanking the caller and breaking the connection. Brennan looked at him expectantly.

"That was Sweets. He's finished the profile on Ethan Williams. He said he's convinced that Williams is capable of murder and a strong candidate for this death. In fact, Sweets thinks it's only a matter of time before he could kill again. In his opinion Williams is extremely dangerous. He's sent us a copy of the profile." Booth drew his brows together in thought. "I know you don't have a lot of time for him, but I think he's onto something. I think Williams is our man."

"His methods are unscientific, but Sweets can be very perceptive. I don't disagree with his conclusion."

"We've got to find Ethan Williams, Bones." His tone was grim.

"We will. We always catch the bad guy." She was emphatic, her smile warm and he was consoled by the affection and pride that shone on her face. He hoped her confidence in him wasn't misplaced.

~o0o~


	12. They don't need no band

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**hugs**  
**hugs hugs**  
**hugs pax hugs**  
**hugs hugs**  
**hugs**_

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

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Chapter Twelve: They Don't Need No Band …

* * *

"Wasn't Mount Zion where Arlene's school teacher friend lived?" Booth remarked out of nowhere.

The hypnotic effect of the white lines on the road had sent Brennan into a light doze, and now she opened her eyes with an effort. "Yes, I think so." She yawned delicately, covering her mouth with the back of one hand. "Why?"

"I thought I saw the town on the map before." Booth's brow was puckered, his thoughts keeping him preoccupied.

"Booth, you looked at the map for thirty seconds two hours ago." Brennan was incredulous, but Booth just shrugged and motioned towards the map with his head. She wordlessly laid the map out on her knees and found the town and the turn off, about fifty miles this side of Weston. She turned towards him, brows raised, "You have exceptional spatial awareness and spatial-temporal reasoning. I'm impressed."

"Impressed, eh?" He looked smug and gave her a sideways smirk. "So what's … space age temporary reasoning?"

"The ability to visualize spatial patterns and mentally manipulate them over a time-ordered sequence of spatial transformations."

Her reply wiped the smugness off his face, and replaced it with doubt. "Is there a chance any of that means I can read a map?"

"Ye-es, mentally visualising spatial relationships easily is part of it. Very impressive. Would you say you were primarily a kinesthetic learner or maybe visual?" Booth screwed up his face, giving her a dubious look but she went on without waiting for an answer. "I'd say kinesthetic – you're a do-er." Frowning as she said it, she missed Booth's grin. "However earlier you did try to tell me it was boy's genes." Her lip curled.

"What? Yeah, that's what it is and … maybe something to do with my army training." Brennan chuckled at the quasi-innocent look on his face, and he held it for a moment or two before grinning back at her.

"What say we call on Ms Montgomery and have a little chat with her?" Booth suggested, his expression changing to speculative.

"To what purpose?"

"Arlene said she can dish the dirt on everyone around here. I think she just might be a gold mine and I feel like going fishing."

"Dirt? Gold? Fish?" Brennan was shaking her head at him, confusion rampant on her face. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

His lips curled into a wry smile, but he kept his eyes on the road. "Welcome to _my_ world."

~o0o~

Mount Zion Retirement Village was a haphazardly constructed facility sprawling out from what was originally a modest brick residence, built on the crest of Mount Zion itself. Although the additions hadn't been built in a particularly sympathetic style, the whole impression was of faded gentility, which reflected the demeanour of most of its residents. A riot of wisteria framed the front entrance, its gnarled limbs so heavy on the frame that the whole structure leant precariously to one side. Splodges of random colour from a variety of cottage plants spilled over the path impressionistically. In contrast, precise rectangular garden beds were lined up on either side of the driveway like soldiers at a passing out parade, each bed strictly regimented by flower colour.

The elderly receptionist didn't attempt to mask her disapproval that they had just showed up to speak to Ms Mongtomery without calling ahead first. Muttering something about _'young people today'_ she showed them to a sunroom filled with several shabby overstuffed lounges and a variety of mismatched straight chairs. Brennan inspected the squat lounges disapprovingly.

"Not very practical for a retirement home. Most elderly people would have trouble getting in and out of these chairs." She chose to remain standing, wandering over to the wall of windows and looking out at the garden with interest. Sun streaming in through the picture windows warmed the room to hothouse level and she was soon fanning herself with one hand. Something out of Booth's line of sight caught her eye, and a look of delight fleetingly lit her face.

Booth sank gratefully into one of the offending chairs, letting his legs stretch out in front on him, his eyes following his partner. The light spun gold in her hair and just for a moment her expression of childlike wonder stung at him – he'd give anything to see that expression more often.

The creak of an approaching wheelchair brought him out of his reverie and he got to his feet as an elderly woman was wheeled through the archway into the sunroom. The carer nodded pleasantly to all three and left them.

"Agent Booth?" The voice was soft but strong, housed in a body that had begun to crumple into itself. Helen Montgomery looked very old and quite frail, but there was a sharp intelligence that still shone through her faded green eyes

"Special Agent Seeley Booth, ma'am, and this is Dr Temperance Brennan, from the Jeffersonian Institute." The old woman looked them up and down several times before speaking.

"May I see your credentials please?" Booth was suddenly aware of their crumpled appearance and ran his hand down the front of his tee shirt, chasing a phantom tie. He hoped she wouldn't notice the slightly risqué slogan emblazoned across his chest and he pulled the edges of his jacket together self-consciously. She brought his badge and photo ID close to her eyes, and her gaze flicked between his photo and his face several times before she nodded once, satisfied, and passed the wallet back to him. She turned her attention to Brennan, and gave her Jeffersonian ID the same close inspection, eventually bestowing another nod.

"Won't you please sit down?" She indicated the sofa to her right. When Brennan hesitated she went on. "It's uncomfortable for me to look up at you."

"I'm sorry, of course. Ms Montgomery, what can you tell us - " Brennan's words dried up at the look Booth shot at her, and the old lady pointedly ignored her and turned back to Booth. The social niceties needed to be observed.

"Would you like some coffee, Agent Booth? Or perhaps a cool drink?" Helen Montgomery's smile was then directed at Brennan, who had the grace to look discomfited.

Booth's experience with the elderly was a little broader than Brennan's, and he knew it would do no good to rush the former teacher. "No thank you, ma'am. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. We're conducting an investigation that may involve some former students of yours. I understand from Arlene Mitchell that you taught school at Glenville County High School for quite a while, Miss Montgomery?"

"True enough. Arlene was a teacher's aide around about the time of my first graduating class. That's how I started my career, as a teacher's aide, so we had that in common. Young Arlene was a joy to have around, loved solving problems, constantly helping others out. She was always so beautifully turned out, made all her own clothes." She fell silent, no doubt contemplating the passage of time. "However I was born and raised in Norfolk, Virginia. Do you know of it, Agent Booth?"

"Yes, ma'am. I spent a little time at the naval base there during my Rangers' training. Biggest base in the world."

Helen Montgomery's eyes filmed over briefly, but she recovered quickly and went on, "I met my fiancée Baden at Norfolk Navy Base. It was an impressive complex even in those days." Again, she seemed drift off into her memories for a moment and Brennan shifted impatiently in her chair.

"But getting back to - " Brennan tried to refocus the conversation again, but Booth shot her another warning look, willing her to take the hint and realise that he knew what he was doing. It would be futile to try and hurry this conversation. She seemed to grasp his meaning, and settled back into the seat, although her arms were crossed over her chest, silently protesting the back seat role that she'd been relegated.

Helen Montgomery brought herself back to the present with an effort. "Now, young man, what is it that you think I can help you with?"

Booth leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "A young girl has been murdered, Miss Montgomery, and I believe Ethan Williams – one of your former students – had something to do with it. I'd like to learn more about him and his crew."

"Crew?" The old lady was unfamiliar with the term.

"His gang, if you like; the other kids that he ran around with when he was at school, and since then. We've been able to find out a little about what he was like, but I think that it goes further than that. I might be on the wrong track, but I'm hoping you'll be able to give us an idea of who he used to associate with, and their circumstances. The better the picture we can get now, the easier it is to fill in the gaps, the more likely we are to be able to solve this crime. When people start closing ranks it helps to know the weakest point, where it's most useful to apply pressure."

Miss Montgomery appeared to consider his request for a minute or two, the silence stretching out for so long that the Brennan wondered whether she may have forgotten they were even there. When she eventually spoke however, her voice was strong and determined.

"I'll tell you whatever I can. My mind is quite sound, but my memory can be a little unreliable these days.

"I'll be frank. Ethan Williams unnerved me, even when he was a youngster, and I've seen a lot of strange and wonderful things during my time on this earth. I only taught him for a year or two before I retired, but I remember him very well, and of course we've crossed paths many times before and since. He is not a stupid boy, but he is damaged – he could have done quite well if he'd applied his cleverness to his education rather than his latest scheme. His father and mother are the same; the apple didn't fall very far from that particular tree.

"I dare say these days there'd be some doctor or other -" she glanced at Brennan with a faintly hostile cast to her features "- who'd be willing to expound on how we should forgive him his sins because his life circumstances are responsible for his behaviour, but it's my belief that some people are just bad, and he is one of them." Brennan looked ready to burst with her need to respond, but she managed to hold her tongue. Booth caught her eye and briefly smiled at her to take the sting out of the old lady's inexplicable hostility towards her and let her know she was doing the right thing by staying silent. She relaxed, slightly mollified by Booth's look of approval.

Helen Montgomery's voice was tinged with weariness, whether from the effort it had taken to cast her mind back, or from the memories themselves wasn't discernible, but she collected herself and continued. "He ran with a pack of young hounds – that's the only way I can describe them. Young Ethan was a natural leader. Let me think ... there was Corey Fletcher, the twins Donny and Gary Holbeck, another boy by the name of Gerald but I'm afraid I can't remember his surname. Darren McGovern – oh I'm sorry he was a different year all together." She frowned deeply, annoyed at herself for her moment of confusion. "Of course there was Gareth Burbridge as well through all that trouble, as I mentioned to Arlene, although Gareth was old enough to know better. They'd be his '_crew_' I think you called it. Oh, a few others, but their names escape me now, they came and went. Here, I brought the yearbooks with me." She produced two slim volumes from a cloth satchel tucked beside her on the chair. Booth gave them a cursory inspection before passing them over to his partner, who began to flick more slowly through the pages.

"What about Sally Beaumont, did she move in the same circles?" Booth threw the question in on the spur of the moment. The direction of his question surprised Brennan; she wasn't aware of any hint of a connection between them. Was Booth following his gut again?

"Of course. Sally Beaumont is Ethan William's cousin."

"What?" The partners exchanged stunned glances, Booth shocked that his long shot had paid off and Brennan amazed that her partner had once again gotten straight to the crux of things without apparently following any logical path. The familial relationship with Williams was certainly a fairly important piece of information that Sally Beaumont had neglected to mention.

Miss Montgomery nodded "Once or twice removed, but that doesn't make any difference to mountain folk. Sally O'Rourke – as she was then of course … I found Sally to be a strange, sullen girl, but I only had her for a year or two. I don't really remember her all that well, to be honest. But I do remember her best friend, Caitlyn Britten. A beautiful child, with the face of an angel. She had the prettiest manners, although sadly she showed no aptitude for the written word. Or the spoken word for that matter. The two were very close. If I recall correctly, Caitlyn fell pregnant at around fourteen and just seemed to disappear. I believe she lost her parents the year before in a traffic accident, and her behaviour began to deteriorate from that point. In fact there was a spate of teenage pregnancies amongst the students around that time. I could never understand why, but it seemed that promiscuity held reign over her contemporaries. Of course there's been a reversal of that trend now, thank goodness, and many of the young men and women in our schools are pledging abstinence."

Brennan's brows drew together and she sat forward, one of the yearbooks open in her hands. "Miss Montgomery, do you remember when exactly Caitlyn had her baby?"

"Let me think … it would have to be twelve or thirteen years ago, but I'm not certain. Things that took place when I was a young woman are clearer to me now than more recent events."

"Booth, you need to look at this." Brennan indicated the picture of a smiling Caitlyn Britten, a pretty redhead with a scattering of freckles on her pale skin and mischievous eyes. "The bone markers bear a clear resemblance to our victim. The maxilla and nasal apertures are identical. They are definitely closely related."

"Miss Montgomery, do you have any idea what could have happened to Caitlyn?" Booth asked, his senses on alert.

"No doubt her extended family took her in and helped her through such a trying time." She replied. "Agent Booth, the folk around here make staunch friends and daunting adversaries, and family _always_ comes first." She said this with a certain amount of hauteur. "I remember when I came here first, as a young girl of nineteen, I was scared and alone. My fiancée, Baden, was in the Navy, serving in the Pacific. His family welcomed me as one of their own and took me into their hearts." Her face clouded over. "My parents were disapproving of my choice of husband, so I came here to be closer to him in any way I could." She fell silent, her eyes off on some distant point. "He was decorated by Vice Admiral Thomas Kincaid himself, you know." Pride filled her voice even while her hand picked at a tiny fault in the arm of the wheelchair absently; she had lost the thread of what they'd been talking about.

Brennan's impatience had surfaced again and was showing clearly on her face but Booth was nodding encouragingly, "Seventh Fleet, right? Battle of Leyte Gulf?"

The old woman's eyes focused again and she sent him a grateful smile. "That's right. Baden survived Leyte Gulf, with those wretched kamikaze attacks against the ships, and then the Borneo campaign, but succumbed to peritonitis a few weeks before he was due home. The only time we were together again was when they shipped his body back to his parents for burial. But my home was here by then, his family became my family." She raised a shaky hand to her head, "I'm sorry Agent Booth, Dr Brennan. I'm very tired. If there's nothing else I can do for you I think I might have a rest before dinner. I hope that I've been able to help you."

Booth stood, extending his hand to the elderly woman. "Miss Montgomery, I can't thank you enough." He indicated the yearbooks that Brennan still held. "Can we hang on to those? I'll make sure they're returned to you as soon as possible."

"Of course, young man. I'm sure Arlene will be happy to bring them back next time she visits. Now, you really must excuse me. Good luck." She rang the bell for assistance. A carer appeared within a few moments and started to wheel her charge out of the room, but she stopped her with a tap on the arm. "Goodbye Dr Brennan." Another tap and her slow journey resumed.

Brennan and Booth turned to each other, both of them excited and on edge.

"What do you think - Caitlyn Britten?" Booth's voice was barely above a whisper, as if by raising his voice he might break the charm.

"The ages are a little off, although because of the endemic damage to the bones from malnutrition we could have underestimated the victim's age by a year or two. It's not easy to be exact, but the timeline still fits. There are clear indications of appropriate genetic markers in the underlying architecture of her features. Miss Montgomery said she just disappeared. Booth, do you think it's possible?" Brennan spoke rapidly, her excitement building.

"Yeah, I think it's possible. I think we just found out the identity of Maddy's mother."

~o0o~

They pulled into Weston as the sun's force began to wane. A late afternoon calm had settled uncomfortably on the town; it was an indeterminate time that hadn't yet reached its potential. Nine-to-fivers were at home contemplating dinner and the early edition news, revellers were still choosing what to wear for the night ahead, and the activities of those few still inhabiting the streets were seemingly aimless. The looming mountain that served as a backdrop for the county seat was shrouded with a light haze that seemed to blur the edges of its outline, sending muted fingers of shadow to darken empty corners.

Booth parked in front of the Sheriff's office, planning to check in with Matt Hillyard. He wanted to know whether there had been any developments in their absence, and to get the sheriff to run the names that Helen Montgomery had given them through the computer to see what turned up. Caitlyn Britten's name was at the top of the list. Brennan opted to remain in the car, which drew a curious smirk from Booth, but she didn't spend any time contemplating the source of his amusement, instead leaning back against the headrest and letting her eyes drift shut. He looked affectionately across at his partner; both of them travel weary but buoyed by the progress they'd made in the case. It had been an interesting day and he'd enjoyed every moment. Bones was good company, whether she was expounding some obscure scientific fact, arguing the point with him or just enjoying the quiet. And she was pretty damn fine to look at.

"I'll just be a jiffy." He opened the door, ready to get out of the car.

"That's not likely." She kept her eyes shut, but her words were emphatic.

"Huh? No, seriously, I won't be long. In and out, I promise." Hand on the door, he made to get out again.

"But you won't be a jiffy." Her brows drew together and she sat forward, looking at him gravely. "A jiffy can mean the time required for light to travel one foot in a vacuum or one tick of the system clock on a computer, depending on whether you're talking to a physicist or a computer scientist. More commonly it's taken to mean about a hundredth of a second."

"No," He explained patiently, "More commonly to the rest of the planet it means I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Oh. Okay." Brennan accepted his definition grudgingly, but couldn't resist fully delineating the term, and coincidentally having the last word. "A jiffy also measures Planck time."

"Ri-ight, thanks for that. You should go on a game show. Seriously." He couldn't help grinning as he walked away; that was his Bones all right.

~o0o~

"Was Sheriff Hillyard able to give you any more information?" Brennan had got out of the rental to stretch her legs and was leaning one hip against the passenger door, flicking through a newspaper.

He put a hand on the roof of the vehicle and the other on his hip, arching his back to relieve the stiffness in his spine. "Hillyard's been working with the ATF and they're planning a sweep on the Williams' place tomorrow. I've called my office to ask for a warrant so that we can be there when they go in and hopefully we'll be able to get some solid evidence that'll implicate Ethan. It'll mean an early start in the morning."

"Has anyone tracked him down yet?"

Booth shook his head. "Charlie's been on to the Virginia office. They're checking out this trucker who's supposed to have employed him, but don't hold your breath. Hillyard also got some intel that a large batch of Williams' particular brand of hooch has turned up in Front Royal. The local police suspect there's a tie to-" he checked his notebook, "- a Melvin Gallagher."

"Who's he?"

"Some local crime boss who's got some very nasty hobbies; he's into a whole range of illegal activities." He replaced his notebook in his back pocket thoughtfully. "That's our connection to Front Royal. Someone dumped the body there, and now we have a link between Joseph Williams and this Gallagher guy and Front Royal." His mind buzzed with this development.

"What about the names Miss Montgomery gave us?"

"Corey Fletcher is dead, suicide two years ago and Donald Holbeck is jail in Texas, been there for four years. Gary Holbeck is married and lives here in town. He's clean, nothing on him at all, but we'll still need to talk to him. Hillyard's got him coming in tomorrow afternoon. There were two Geralds in the yearbook. The sheriff doesn't have a record of either of them so he's checking that out and he'll let us know."

"And Caitlyn?"

"Nothing, zip. I've put DC onto tracking down anything they can get. We should have some sort of answer by morning." He stretched again, enjoying the faint pop of his spine settling back into place. "What have you got there?" He indicated the newspaper she held.

Brennan checked the banner on the front page. "_'The Weston Democrat'_."

Booth glanced around, idly wondering whether he'd be able to track down any of the DC papers, and he spotted the newsrack nearby. A tall leggy blonde was just reaching for a paper, and she caught him looking. Interest flickered across her face and she straightened her shoulders and wet her lips, her look morphing into something more blatant and unequivocal. Booth instinctively stood straighter, flattered by her attention.

Brennan observed the exchange with interest. "Do you know that woman?" Amusement tinged her voice, and she smirked when she observed the flush of embarrassment flood his face.

"Who? 'Daisy Duke' over there?" Booth cut the blonde another look and she smiled back flirtatiously. He answered both questions with a rueful shake of his head, smiling back at the blonde in spite of himself, and she shrugged and turned away, swinging her hips to give him one last chance. He got into the car, "No. Uh-huh. No way."

"You were flirting with her." Brennan accused blandly as she settled herself in the passenger seat.

"What? No I wasn't." He tried to laugh it off but her cynicism caught him full in the face. "It's involuntary, okay?" He made the admission with a shrug. Sometimes it was easier to cave than try to dissemble with her.

"Involuntary?" Brennan appeared to consider the premise for a moment, her expression pensive and a little sad. "Males see an attractive woman and immediately assess her attractiveness and the likelihood of having sex with her." Brennan now turned to look at him, her expression similar to the way Hodgins' looked at one of his bugs; Booth could almost feel the pin going through his shoulders as she watched him. "Anthropologically you're investing in the survival of the species." She put her head to one side to watch his reaction, and pushed the pin in further. "You're shaking your head, but you've already imagined it; there's a picture in your head of you having sex with that woman."

"Jeez, there is now, Bones." _But it's not of the blonde. _"Look, there's a thing out there -"

"A thing? Out there?" She scoffed. She thought she was making a detached observation of his behaviour but on some level she was annoyed, even if she wouldn't admit it to herself. She was so well practiced at keeping emotion out of her deliberations that sometimes she even convinced herself that she felt nothing. But Booth's eyes had narrowed; he'd picked up on something in her tone that made him suspicious. He watched her carefully and continued, "Yeah, out there in the ether … it leads to poetry and bad song lyrics. And sex."

She was uncharacteristically flustered now, but she knew the script as well as he did. "It's a biological -"

"Yeah, yeah, biological imperative." He spoke quietly, patiently. "Change the record, Bones. You can make it sound as squinty as you like, but it doesn't change the way things are." He was exquisitely uncomfortable having this conversation with her right now; he wished he could change the pictures being broadcast inside his skull by his runaway brain. But there was something in her voice that he couldn't quite believe he was hearing, and he brought his face closer to hers, "Jealous, Bones?" The traces of a smile still curved his lips but he involuntarily dropped his voice even further, his tone intimate, suddenly wanting - needing - to know her answer.

"_No_!" Adamant, she held his look for a moment before turning away, moderating her tone almost immediately, "No, of course not." She was disconcerted at the direction the conversation had taken and Booth watched the shutters go up on her expression. Damn, just for a second there he could have sworn …

He shut everything down abruptly, pulling back and turning the ignition. "Are you hungry?"

Brennan frowned and pursed her lips, confused by her thoughts and not entirely sure he'd changed the subject. "Hungry?" She repeated stupidly.

"Yeah, we only had that fruit from the stand for lunch." Booth busied himself with checking the messages on his cell phone and didn't see the colour rush up her neck and suffuse her face. "I could use something more substantial, like a nice big juicy steak about two inches thick."

In an effort to distract them both, she grabbed the paper she'd been reading and pointed to the lead article, "There's something called the Road Kill Cook-Off in Marlinton. I'm sure you could get all the meat you wanted there."

"The _what_? Are you serious?" It worked – he was distracted.

"It says here you can get, amongst other things, 'flat cat', 'bumper bruised bear' and 'deer schmear fajitas'."

"Ah, I think we'll just take our chances here in town." He gave her a slightly nauseated look, "Does it really say 'deer schmear fajitas'?" He repeated disbelievingly.

"It looks to me like they're trying to turn stereotypes into a positive source of income for the community. Tourism is probably a big employer, too, along with the mines." Brennan replied reasonably.

"Well whatever, I vote we go back to Arlene's, freshen up and then find somewhere here that will serve me the biggest freshest steak in Lewis County, with a side of fries and corn on the cob."

Brennan smiled her assent and the deal was sealed.

~o0o~

Booth unlocked the door to their borrowed rooms, standing aside to let his partner enter first. Ever the gentleman, he was still male enough to enjoy the view whenever the opportunity arose and the few short steps up to the door offered a particularly good opportunity. How could she be so oblivious to what she did to him? He pulled his thoughts up short, aware that it was probably tiredness that was letting random images rise to the top of his brain.

Being a man, he made a beeline to the fridge. "I don't believe Arlene." Booth's voice carried from the kitchenette. "There's enough food in this fridge to feed an army." He rummaged around for a second, "And there's steak!" His voice rang with glee. "And some bass fillets for you, and something sticky and sweet for dessert that looks out of this world. And a note from Arlene telling us to use that mean looking barbecue out the back."

"Maybe she wants to fatten you up." Brennan teased mildly, flopping down onto the sofa with a sigh and letting her spine relax. Booth came back and stood in the doorway. "You think I need to bulk up?" An unexpected flicker of insecurity coloured his words as he thought of the way she'd responded to Matt Hillyard, and he patted his flat stomach thoughtfully.

Brennan swung to look at him over her shoulder, letting her eyes wander over him clinically. Despite registering the impartial nature of her inspection, he couldn't stop the heat that spread like wildfire to every cell of his body. The question hung between them, before Brennan replied deliberately, "Now who's dishing for compliments?"

He was feeling too punchy to be bothered correcting her mistake; besides she looked so pleased at herself for using the slang that he didn't have the heart to contradict her. Instead, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up from the sofa, spinning her around in a mock jive, making her chuckle even while she protested, "_Booth - let me go!_"

"C'mon then Bones, I'll go do the guy thing and fire up those coals while you do the girl thing and get some sides together. We're gonna sizzle tonight."

~o0o~

"But that's not the point is it?" Brennan was starting to get frustrated at Booth's inflexible stance, and her tone of voice reflected that frustration. She put another plate in the sink and scrubbed at it furiously.

"All I'm saying is that it needs to go further than that." Her partner rebutted, hands on hips and looking distractingly sexy with a tea towel tucked into the waistband of his jeans and a second tossed over his shoulder. "Schools don't raise kids, families do." Booth didn't like the look he saw on her face; she was about to cross a line, he just knew it. She got this slightly guilty look in her eyes while at the same time she screwed up her lips to one side, as if on some level she recognised the moment just before she went too far, but was helpless to control it. He knew that look well, and he also knew how much she liked to win an argument.

She raised one finger of a rubber-gloved hand for emphasis. "But look at your own situation, Booth. Parker - " As soon as she'd mentioned his son's name, she saw Booth's lips press together into a thin line and knew she'd taken the wrong tack.

"Don't go there, Bones. Parker is the best thing that ever happened to me." His jaw hardened, the muscles flexing as he struggled to keep his temper in check. He took a deep breath and stacked the dried plates back into the cupboard above the sink. They'd started discussing the information that the old school teacher had given them as they sat down to dinner, which had led to a heated discussion on the value of sex education in schools and the availability of contraception for underage children. It had been stimulating and fun matching wits with her, but he couldn't take it if she used the circumstances of his son's birth to support the opinions that she'd been spouting. "You know, you can be incredibly judgmental sometimes."

Brennan sighed, knowing that Booth was missing her point entirely, belatedly realizing that her words could have been misinterpreted in the context of what she'd been saying up to that point. Troubled that she'd caused him pain at any level, her hand found his on the countertop and she squeezed it reassuringly.

"Booth, Parker is a wonderful child and a joy to know. Your world – the world – would be a lesser place without him. I think you may have misunderstood what I was going to say." The contrite look she gave him made his antagonism drain away instantly. "You're a great dad."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm a bit defensive on the subject." He flipped his hand over and caught hers, palm to palm. "You don't often get so hot under the collar about these sorts of things. Why are you so passionate about this?" He felt the gentle pull of her hand as she tried to extricate it from his grasp, but he increased the pressure just enough so that she couldn't move her hand without being obvious about it. She looked at their joined hands and then at him.

"Everybody has the power to make choices about their lives, even children, provided they're old enough to comprehend the consequences of their actions or have someone who can guide them." Booth raised his brows, but let her continue without comment. "My life could have easily taken a completely different path if I'd given in to my biological urges at sixteen. I was lonely, I needed intimacy … love. I haven't always been as rational as I am now. I might never have had the same fantasies about marriage and children that my peers had, and at the time I thought I wanted the closeness that a sexual relationship seemed to offer."

"So what happened?"

"I said no. He left."

"Whoa. Wait a minute - " Booth's mind raced, this could explain a lot – maybe this had something to do with why she mostly did the leaving first these days, why she was so distrustful of relationships?

"I don't regret my decision." She said emphatically, forcing a lightness to her tone that jarred with what she was saying. "And in the end it helped me accept that I had to stand on my own two feet after my parents and Russ were gone. It's a lesson that's served me well." Now she pulled away gently, putting some space between them. "It still does."

"Not everyone leaves, Bones." He reached out to place a hand on her arm but she evaded his touch.

She'd shut down again, but rallied after a few seconds, changing pace. "Why don't we take our coffee outside? It's so mild; I'd really enjoy sitting out back for a while." She busied herself filling their cups.

Booth accepted her deflection without comment, bowled over that she'd opened up as much as she had, and inordinately pleased that she felt comfortable enough with him to be so up front. He knew it didn't come easily to her. She'd been allowing him glimpses into her formative years more and more just recently; maybe the walls were crumbling a little. That made him feel good.

He grabbed the sweet concoction that Arlene had left for them and two spoons, throwing one of the tea towels over his forearm in an awful imitation of a waiter.

"Madamoiselle, may I show you to your table?" His appalling French accent got Brennan laughing again, and they settled themselves on the old swing seat.

"It's not hard to see where these mountains got their name." Booth commented, passing her one of the spoons. A blue haze tinted the horizon.

"The trees release isoprene into the atmosphere, it's most obvious from a distance." She was pragmatic as usual.

"Well, whatever causes it, it's pretty."

"Yes." She considered. "Yeah, it's pretty." She flicked a sideways look at him, her glance sliding away when she found his eyes already on her.

"You really warmed to that kid, Jerry, didn't you?"

Brennan's smile lifted one side of her face but she didn't say anything, instead helping herself to some dessert.

"You know, you were on the money there, Bones."

"I don't know what that means."

"Jerry knows what happened to Maddy, but whether he'll ever tell anyone is another matter. Some secrets are just too big to say out loud." He leaned into her shoulder, "If anyone has a chance to get him to tell, it's you."

"You really think so?" She was flattered by his confidence in her, but seriously doubted whether what he said was correct. "Does your skill at processing non-verbal clues tell you that?"

"Yeah, sort of, but you're both two of a kind. He completely identified with something that he saw in you."

"As did I, in him." She said softly, smiling. Booth waited, knowing she would work it out and badly wanting her to share her thoughts with him, undo another lock on her heart. He didn't break contact with her, but instead held himself still as he waited for her to continue.

When she finally spoke her voice was husky, "You know, don't you?"

"What do I know, Bones?" Gently said, encouraging her confidences, wondering whether this enigmatic woman could share more just yet.

"That I was an outcast, an oddity, just like Jerry." She wasn't upset by the comparison; she'd accepted years ago that her level of intelligence set her apart. It was simply a fact of her life, but privately she was concerned on behalf of the boy.

"Ah, I was thinking more maybe 'changeling'?" Booth was hesitant, not sure if he was using the term correctly.

"What, you think 'changeling' is less … weird?" She laughed softly, making it obvious that she wasn't offended by his alternative. "You do know it means an ugly, stupid or strange child left by fairies in place of a pretty, charming child."

Booth tried back-pedalling fast, "Amongst other things. You sure it means that?" Brennan wasn't buying it if the smirk on her face was anything to go by. "Okay, maybe 'changeling' was wrong. Stupid you ain't." He nudged her shoulder again and his pulse spiked when she leaned back into him. "Maybe 'special' is the right word."

"As in 'special olympics'?" Brennan laughed at the shocked expression on his face.

"Bones, you made a joke."

Her eyes softened. "I never knew how to laugh at myself before I met you, Booth. Maybe I'm evolving." Before he could say anything else, she drew her brows together, her voice suddenly serious. "But there are no such things as fairies." Just then a firefly drifted past them, and they both started to chuckle.

Booth leant back, linking his hands behind his head, "No such thing as fairies, hey? What do you call that?"

"It was a firefly, Booth." Her reply was uncompromising.

"We're in West Virginia, it's a lightning bug here."

"Either way, not a fairy."

Which of course led to another heated discussion, this time on the value of fantasy versus fact.

~o0o~

A curtain at one of the windows on the opposite wing of the sprawling house twitched slightly. Arlene's apple doll face bobbed at the window as she watched her two guests laughing and talking into the night, and a contented smile settled on her face. Some things were just meant to be.

~o0o~

**A/N Just thought I'd put a note here to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who has alerted or favourited my story/ies ... It's really flattering and I'm very touched that so many of you are enjoying the ride! Between that and those delicious reviews, it really warms the heart of this still-fairly-new newbie ... and boy does it make a difference to motivation! I'm loving this review process; it's incredibly helpful to know which parts you like (or otherwise!) .... so don't be shy, I'd love to hear from you. It helps me become a better writer :D.**


	13. Lordy, how they play it

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or alerted – I'm so happy that you've been enjoying the story and that you've taken the time to let me know – it means a huge amount. We're almost at the end … I'm sooo going to miss West Virginia!_

_And, you've got to know by now; paxmundi is the best! Go, team! _

_Happy Easter, everyone. May the bunny of happiness leave your baskets overflowing with__ Lindt balls._

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Lordy, how they play it!

* * *

"Bones." Booth half-whispered her name on a sigh, close to her ear. He had been watching her sleep for a minute or two; the soft rise and fall of her chest hypnotised him. He leant closer, his tone more persuasive. "Bones?"

She felt his voice, warm on her cheek, before she heard it.

She tried to shrug off his hand that lay on her upper arm, but his grip only tightened. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and could just make out his form against the dim light spilling in through the half open doorway.

"Wh – huh? Booth? What do you want?" Her voice was husky, her mouth dry. She squinted over at him, disconcerted to find his face so close to hers, and their eyes locked. "Why aren't you …" she clamped her mouth shut abruptly.

"What?" Booth found he couldn't move; he was pinioned by the clear blue grey of her eyes, but she rapidly dropped her lids down over them as colour suffused her face.

"Nothing, I was – um - dreaming." She rubbed one eye with the heel of her hand.

"Well, now you have to wake up. C'mon wakey, wakey Bones." His tone was abruptly brisk and he rocked back on his heels and straightened, putting some distance between them. In the process he thought he just might have managed to salvage his sanity and stop a hair's breadth this side of weird. But still, he watched her for a moment longer as the sleep fell away from her face and awareness flooded her features, making her movements a little self-conscious.

Brennan came around enough to notice that he was fully dressed, his hair slick from the shower, and for a second or two she was confused.

Booth slapped his hands together, geeing her up. "C'mon, you've got fifteen minutes."

"For what? Oh, the ATF thing." She pushed herself up in the bed and saw that he'd placed a cup of coffee on the bedside table. "What time is it? It's still dark." Brennan's voice edged on petulant; she wasn't really at her best first thing in the morning and they'd stayed up pretty late last night.

"It's early." He said bluntly, "Now, no excuses. I know you slept well, I heard you snoring from all the way across the hall." Booth took another step back, needing to put more distance between them now that she was waking up properly.

"I do not snore." She took a sip of the coffee, closing her eyes in appreciation at the warmth and flavour.

"Right. Then someone must've been using a chainsaw at about 3:00am." A bed pillow sailed past his head as he turned to leave her room. "Fifteen minutes or I'm leaving without you." He threw the words and the pillow back over his shoulder, grinning when he heard a satisfying _'oof'_ as the pillow found its target.

~o0o~

Booth pulled the car up behind two ATF vans and the Sheriff's cruiser. The vehicles were nosed into a clearing on the shoulder of the rough track that ran behind the Williams' farm. The house and the outbuildings were only several hundred yards away in a direct line, but over a sharp rise that effectively shielded the law enforcement presence. Several agents were huddled together behind one of the vans, their voices subdued, coffee steam lending their exhaled breaths depth in the morning cold. Booth spotted Hillyard speaking earnestly to one of the ATF agents, and got out to confer briefly with them. It was cold, and he wrapped his arms across his chest, tucking a hand under each armpit to keep them warm, his shoulders hunched in a vain effort to keep himself from losing body heat. He didn't waste much time returning to the warmth of the car and his waiting partner once he'd familiarized himself with the plan of action.

"Williams and his wife are definitely there, plus two possibly three unidentified males. I'm hoping one of them is Ethan. That story about him working out of Charlestown is crap. The ATF have a third unit ready to move from the other side." Booth's features were set into hard lines, his breath coming in little puffs as he emptied his pockets into the console tray. "You stay here – this could get hairy." Booth checked his weapon, his movements meticulous and efficient. Brennan senses spiked at the faint scent of gun oil and burnt powder that never quite dissipated from the gun or holster. She invariably associated the smell with Booth, and she found it stimulating on some unacknowledged level. Adrenalin surged through her body and she unhitched her seatbelt impatiently.

"I will not." She was already stashing her bag and had pulled her hair back into the habitual ponytail. She turned to him, her expression mutinous, "There's got to be least ten Federal Agents here not including you, and three deputies - how could it be any safer?" Her voice started to rise and one or two of the waiting agents turned their way, frowning at her disapprovingly.

Booth didn't respond, but gave her a dark look. The dawn light combined with the soft glow from the dash cast blue green shadows across his face, the planes and valleys of his features in sharp relief. Brennan paused, taken aback by the fierceness in his gaze. She shifted back in her seat and smiled uncertainly at him.

"If I had a gun I'd be perfectly safe." She continued reasonably but in a hushed voice, keeping a cautious eye on the nearby agents.

"Yeah, but what about the rest of us?" Booth muttered under his breath, only half joking. He lifted his eyes from his task and appealed to her "Just stay here, will you Bones? Hillyard told me there's word going around that Gallagher – the crime boss that's been distributing Williams' hooch - may have stashed some firearms here. If that's the case it could get real messy, real fast." Brennan opened her mouth to argue the point, but Booth began to lose patience with her. He leant in close until they were virtually nose to nose and he pressed his hand down on her shoulder to still her. She wriggled impatiently under his touch.

"Enough arguing. You're staying here." His voice was harsh, and the tone startled her. At the stunned look on her face he relented, adding quietly, "Please. Bones, for me?"

His soft entreaty gave Brennan pause; and she studied him for a moment before relaxing back into the seat, her posture reflecting her unspoken compliance.

"Jeez if I'd known that was all it took to get you to do what I wanted, I could have had you doing all sorts of things for me." One eyebrow shot up, sending the furrows in his brow into a cross hatched pattern, and he grinned suggestively. A moment later he was gone.

~o0o~

From her vantage point in the car, Brennan watched as the line of agents spread out across the knoll just below the ridge. In the dim light the figures were no more than dark smudges against the knee high grass. Every so often a breeze coiffed the swathes into random swirls, looking for all the world like some bizarre weather map depicting lines of orographic ascent. Brennan had no problem spotting her partner; even without the "FBI" emblazoned on his body armor his broad shoulders and narrow hips were so familiar to her. She was always taken aback at how light and agile his movements were for such a large man. Another gust kicked up the grass at his feet and, irrationally, it seemed to her that he hovered above the ground for a second. The thought brought a whimsical smile to her face, which in turn sent her eyes trolling left and right, making sure her silliness hadn't been observed. She was thankful that she was alone.

A sudden noise drew her attention back to the hill and she saw the entire team drop to the ground as one. Another two sharp cracks in quick succession identified the noise; gunfire. Her eyes anxiously sought out Booth again, but she couldn't distinguish him through the mist now filming the inside of the car window. She got out of the vehicle, trying to get a better look. Another shot rang out, this time easily identifiable as the crack of a rifle. Brennan instinctively dropped to a half crouch and sought cover behind the ATF vans. She saw one of the agents fall and begin to slide down the slope and she surged forward without thought, her heart in her mouth, her eyes frantically searching for Booth.

Before she got more than ten feet, something about the set of the shoulders of one of the men halted her, and she forced herself to keep still, looking intently until she could make out the letters "B" and "I". It was Booth, and he was running point, his long legs eating up the ground as he ran at full tilt towards the Williams property. Brennan watched intently until he crested the hill and was out of her line of sight. She hadn't realized that she'd been holding her breath, and she expelled it on a sigh, crossing her arms over her chest. She wasn't entirely sure whether she was relieved that her partner had evaded getting shot or more worried that he seemed to be leading the sortie, putting himself in more danger. She saw the agent who had stumbled get back to his feet and follow his colleagues, and her sense of frustration mounted as they all disappeared from view. All she could hear were muffled shouts; words and identities were indecipherable. Mercifully, she didn't hear any more gunfire, and her heart rate began to settle back down to something approaching normal. Brennan had to trust her partner to know how to look after himself; he'd been doing this for a very long time.

She flipped her cell phone open, the light illuminating her face. She needed something to focus on and she'd intended calling the lab, but had forgotten for a moment that it was barely 5:00am. Not even Hodgins would be in this early. No messages, even from Angela. She thumbed through saved messages, trying to find something to distract her, but the only message she hadn't dealt with and consequently deleted was a rather juvenile text from Booth he'd sent her the last time they'd been in court, a pithy comment about the defense attorney's fashion sense. It had broken up a long afternoon of waiting, and still made her smile.

The sheriff's car radio suddenly crackled to life, making her jump like a skittish teenager and swing around in the direction of the sound. She carefully scanned the area, including a thicket of shadowy low bushes. Nothing there. Her eyes travelled solemnly in each direction along the rough track they'd used for access; not even a bird – she was alone. She pulled a wry face at her behavior; she wouldn't normally classify herself as having a nervous constitution, but apparently she was feeling on edge despite her best intentions. She locked thoughts of Booth's wellbeing in the safe place at the back of her mind and resolutely headed towards their vehicle, intent on checking her kit and changing into her coveralls. The trunk open, she began to ferret through her gear, systematically prioritizing the items she would need.

The first hint she had that she might not be alone was the crunch of a fallen bough breaking underfoot, close by. It wasn't overly loud or followed by any further sound of movement, but her senses began to hum. Was this what Booth meant when he spoke about his gut? Another surge of adrenalin swept through her veins, topping off the residue still in her bloodstream. She felt her muscles tense reflexively, and her fingers curled around a fortuitously placed tire iron.

~o0o~

With the house now secured by the ATF and its occupants disarmed and in custody, Booth was doing his part to double check the outbuildings when a gravelly voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Well butter my ears with jelly and lay me on an ant hill if it ain't Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth?" The broad Texas accent was unmistakable.

Booth turned slowly, his face incredulous, "Is that you Farrelly?" In the dim light Booth narrowed his eyes to get a better look at the man who'd spoken. "What the hell are you doing here?" The two men exchanged an enthusiastic handshake, each of them wearing matching face-splitting grins. Farrelly half twisted towards him, pointing a stubby finger at his back. Booth raised his brows, "Jeez, Farrelly … ATF? Since when did you give up on the Army?"

Farrelly shrugged, "Since about a couple of years ago – but this ain't my first rodeo, hombre. I hoped our trails'd cross sooner or later, but I didn't expect to run into you here. Now I don't know whether to scratch my watch or wind my butt." Booth couldn't help grinning at the exaggerated cowpoke routine. Farrelly gave him a quizzical look, his accent ebbing back into something more resembling his Houston roots. "I thought you were with Murder Investigation? Didn't I hear something about you and some fuddy duddy professor?" Booth laughed, and Farrelly went on, "I always knew you'd land some cushy job. What are you, the old boy's driver? Researcher?" Farrelly smirked evilly, "Boy toy?"

~o0o~

Brennan forced herself to relax, imperceptibly rising onto the balls of her feet and letting her centre of gravity settle slightly forward. The _arrectores pilorum_ on her forearms contracted mechanically around the follicular units located there and for a split second she was fascinated by her body's reaction to fear, vestigial evidence of a response from another age. The light was rapidly strengthening as the sun started its journey across the sky, and she lowered the trunk lid a few inches so that she had a better chance of seeing any movement behind her reflected in the rear window of the vehicle. Nothing, but still she didn't let her guard down. She steadied her breath as she'd been taught, and slid her eyes to her right.

The blow, when it came, caught her on her left shoulder, spinning her one eighty degrees and bringing her face-to-face with her attacker.

~o0o~

"Very funny, Farrelly." Booth caught a movement out of the corner of his eye, followed closely by raised voices. They both turned towards the noise. Hernandez, the agent Booth had spoken to earlier and who was in charge of the sweep, was very publicly bawling out a younger man, uncaring of being overheard. "Sounds like someone's getting a biology lesson." Booth observed dryly, "Maybe you ought to tell your boss that what he's just suggested isn't physically possible."

"Ah, Hernandez is all hat, no cattle." Farrelly shrugged, unmoved by the young ATF agent's plight and his voice was suddenly serious, "But the kid's got it coming; all he had to do was keep his eyes on the prize. At least we've got the wife and two of the men in custody." Farrelly was philosophical about the stuff up, but Booth frowned, not immediately comprehending the implications of what the other man was saying.

"What about the son, Ethan? Is he in custody? He could be going by the name Hank."

"Who? Nu-uh, we've got IDs on the other two; no Ethan, no Hank." Farrelly was still focused on Hernandez and the junior agent. "All he had to do was keep the perp in view until the cavalry got here. He let him out of his sight and Williams lit out quicker'n spit on a griddle." Farrelly's expression was iron hard, "We'll get him, though, he's on foot and he's not moving very fast. There's only one way he can go. Hernandez has sent a team out to swing around and cut him off."

"_What?_" Booth almost shouted. "Which way?"

"The way you came up. Hey, what's the matter? Booth?" But he was talking to thin air; Booth had taken off at a sprint, back down the hill, to Bones.

He got back to the vehicles in the clearing in four minutes flat, breathless, the blood pounding in his ears. At first glance he couldn't see any sign of her, but as he started to head towards the rental, he noticed that the lid of the trunk was slightly raised. He drew his weapon and used one of the vans to shield his approach, taking a moment to try and get his breathing under control. His ears strained to hear something, anything, to let him know that she was all right.

When he heard a low guttural moan he reacted instantly, bending almost double and heading straight toward the sound, gun held parallel to the ground, double fisted and ready to fire. The sight that confronted him when he rounded the back of the rental almost made his heart stop.

_Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you_.

"If I'd had a gun this would never have happened." Brennan's words were loaded with irony and as close to sarcasm as he'd known her to get. Her chest was heaving with the effort of keeping her knee centered on Joseph Williams' back while keeping his right arm twisted up and away from his body. She applied a little more weight to his hand which was bent back in an unnatural position, and he moaned in response. She looked up at Booth, satisfaction etched on her features as she went on, "I'm fairly certain I've broken his nose."

Booth's feet were rooted to the ground and he felt his muscles go slack as relief poured through him. "You okay Bones?" he croaked.

Brennan blew a strand of hair out of her eyes impatiently. "Booth, are you going to help or are you just going to stand there?"

He recovered some of his composure, enough to retort wryly, "Looks like you've got it under control there Bones." As he spoke four ATF agents rushed past him, one keeping his weapon trained on Williams while another two manhandled him to his knees and restrained him. Brennan allowed the fourth to help her up and then carefully brushed down her jeans. She gave Booth a look that usually sent interns into therapy. "Can I get my evidence now?"

~o0o~

Brennan was in a foul mood as she lumped her evidence kit out of the car and headed towards the house. They hadn't exchanged more than the basics during the drive around to the main entrance at the front of the house in Plaister Row. His enquiry after her health was met with a brusque _'Fine thanks.' _although she'd reached up to massage her shoulder when she thought he wasn't looking. She listened to his explanation of how Joseph Williams had managed to escape without comment. When he told her that no sign of Ethan Williams had been found, she turned to him concerned but looked away when their eyes met. When he followed her from the car and tried to take the heavy case from her, she calmly pulled it away out of his reach and increased her pace.

Booth knew better than to try to mollify her; she had her temper up and it was simpler and easier just to let her work it off. Fifteen minutes or so of looking for evidence and she would have forgotten to be annoyed. Half an hour and she should have forgotten what had annoyed her in the first place. He stopped just short of the rickety steps that led to the porch and watched her stomp up them, each tread sagging unsteadily under her weight.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to find his friend Farrelly by his side. Farrelly let out a low whistle, a wolfish smile creasing his face. "Hot damn, who the hell is _that_?"

Brennan stood on the top step and unselfconsciously stripped down to her tee and jeans and pulled on her coveralls and bootees. She was utterly oblivious of the attention her actions had attracted from the predominantly male personnel.

"Down, boy." Booth knew Farrelly's wife, Claire, from way back, and was well aware that they adored each other so he didn't pay much attention to the other man's comments. He continued to watch his partner as she barked out orders and generally bossed around the ATF agents that remained in the house, a smile hovering on his lips. "_That_, my friend, is my fuddy duddy professor." he said smugly, keeping his voice low.

Farrelly scratched his chin, wincing as one of the techs took the brunt of her impatience with his ineptitude. "Hmm. She's kinda … feisty, isn't she? She's got tongue enough for ten rows of teeth."

"Oh man, you don't know the half of it." Booth's grin got wider and they both continued to unashamedly watch her. Brennan's voice wasn't loud, but she spoke with authority and an indisputable belief in her right to be obeyed. Farrelly gave Booth a long considered look, taking in the smile and the self-satisfied look on the other man's face. "Bet she's harder to handle than a two headed turkey at Thanksgiving."

A look of real pain crossed Booth's face when Brennan speared Farrelly with an icy glare, having obviously overheard the agent's teasing comment, "I don't know what that means, but I can assure you that Special Agent Booth doesn't _'handle'_ me." She dismissed him without further thought and entered the dark interior of the farmhouse.

Farrelly bit his bottom lip in an effort to contain his laughter and nodded slowly a few times before turning to Booth, "Uh-huh, but I surely bet you'd like to." The ATF agent turned and went back to what he'd been doing, chuckling until he was out of sight.

~o0o~

"If we keep going like this we're going to run out of evidence bags. Do you think they have them at the corner store?" Booth had his arms full of bags; Brennan's search of the house had been painstaking and had borne fruit. The main find had been significant although not necessarily incriminating; several blankets identical to the ones which they'd located at the cave and plenty of trace to make a DNA match straightforward. Each had been sealed into bags ready to go to Jack Hodgins and the rest of the team for examination.

Brennan had stopped being snippy about twenty five minutes ago, right on schedule, although since then she'd been quietly absorbed by her work and had spoken only when it related to her labours. Now she merely rolled her eyes at him before turning back to study the most recently collected items that she'd tagged ready to send back to the Jeffersonian. But Booth was a patient man, particularly where his partner was concerned, and his asinine comment worked its magic; the left side of her mouth curled up as she turned away and he recognized her genuine amusement. Everything was okay. He hummed a little as he kept working at her side.

"You really are tone deaf, aren't you?" Brennan observed, not for the first time in their acquaintance.

"Music's not just about how it sounds, Bones, it's about how it feels." Booth responded, his voice animated, and he took up the tune again more loudly.

"I think there'd be one or two … billion … people who might disagree." She laughed as she said it, finding his premise absurd.

Booth paused what he was doing to look at her seriously. "You really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so. I can't give a definitive number, but I believe my estimate to be quite conservative." She held out some strands of blonde hair that she'd recovered from a hairbrush and dropped them into the open baggie that Booth held out towards her. He sealed it carefully and scribbled the location and bag number in his notebook.

"What about jazz – I know you love jazz?" She nodded, straightening up to give him her full attention. "Does it matter if every note isn't perfect? Or maybe that's what makes it more interesting?" This made her pause, a frown crossing her face as she thought about the truth of what he was saying. "Or kids. Kids singing. Are you going to tell me the sound of little kids singing, every single one of them out of key, isn't beautiful?" He had one hand on his hip and his head was tossed back; ready for a scrap.

"Hmm. I've never thought of it like that." She pursed her lips, her eyes thoughtful as she pondered his hypothesis. She unconsciously mirrored his stance, head slightly back, eyes narrowed, although she was careful to keep her gloved hands away from her body.

"It's what's in here … " He tapped her chest lightly " … that makes music sound good."

"Sooo … not necessarily what's in your head?" Her look was doubtful and still slightly preoccupied, but she didn't argue the point or get all squinty and Booth grinned at her.

"You're learning, Bones, you're learning." She smiled wryly in response, and he started humming again, his movements ostensibly in time with the tempo of the song. She shook her head at his antics and went back to her task, still smiling.

"Hey, Booth! You in here?" A familiar gruff voice boomed from the front of the house.

"Down here, Farrelly." He turned to Brennan, pleasure coloring his voice. "Wait till you meet this guy, we go back to my Army days. He's a riot." A small part of him was gleefully looking forward to their meeting; Farrelly's personality was larger-than-life and Booth had no doubt Bones was capable of cutting him down to size in her usual forthright manner. He only just stopped himself from rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

The man himself appeared at the door, a clipboard in his hand. "Hey Special Agent, I need your John Hancock on some paperwork."

Booth drew him into the room. "Bones, this is Kirk Farrelly. Farrelly, Dr Temperance Brennan,"

Farrelly nodded pleasantly, and drawled "Howdy ma'am. It's a real pleasure to meet you. Dang, it's a real pleasure just lookin' at you. You're just as pretty as a picture." His smile was wide and appreciative.

Although outwardly serene, the newcomer's words bemused Brennan instantly. Booth watched the nuances of her emotions cross her face and stood back and waited for the fireworks. Brennan acknowledged the introduction, flicking Booth an uncertain look. He gave her a nod of encouragement and she peeled off her gloves to shake the newcomer's hand.

"Agent Farrelly. You accent suggests that you're a native of Texas?" She asked coolly.

Booth rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets. Booth had fallen easily into his old habit of trying to one-up his friend even after so long a gap in their acquaintance. Now he was looking forward to Farrelly getting his comeuppance at the hands of his partner.

"Well, ma'am, it never pays to ask a man if he's from Texas. If he is, he'll tell you on his own. If he ain't, no need to embarrass him." Brennan chuckled unexpectedly, her eyes lighting up with amusement. Booth's face was incredulous. His brows came together as he gave them both a narrow look; was she swallowing those corny lines without comment?

"Bones, don't encourage him." Booth was vaguely disgruntled and he scrawled his signature across the proffered form carelessly. "He already thinks those initials on his jacket make him indestructible."

"Hey, yankee, and I suppose you're going to tell me you don't think you're special issue Teflon coated? You FBI guys are all the same, think you can do no wrong. Anyone would think the sun comes up just to hear you crow." He scoffed, the wide grin on his face belying the derision in his tone.

Booth ignored the dig and passed the clipboard back to his friend, "There you go Agent Farrelly. Another perfect example of interagency co-operation." He turned to Brennan, "What you've got to understand, Bones, is that my buddy Farrelly here hates to admit I'm better at what I do than he is at what he does." He was grinning cheesily at the other man, waiting for the next round of mock insults from his old friend.

Brennan had already pulled on a fresh pair of gloves. "I have absolutely no idea what either of you are actually saying, but I can only assume you have some sort of verbal competition – I think Angela would call it a "pissing" contest - in progress. People in high risk careers are often goal orientated and competitive." She glanced up at Booth, "I've observed first hand just how competitive federal agents can be." Farrelly's snort of laughter drew Brennan's glance, and they exchanged a dry look when Booth scowled fiercely at them both.

"I'm not competitive." Booth swung around to his partner. "Am I?"

"Of course you are, Booth. Everything you do that sets you aside from other men is done as a way to attest to – or in other words compete for – your alpha male status."

Booth's self-satisfied smile was directed back at the other man. "Ah ha – see? Bones here says I'm the alpha male. She should know; she's a genius."

"I said you strive toward alpha male status through your actions." She corrected archly.

"Same thing." Booth responded, his tone glib.

"Not really. Although why you see the need to exchange insults constantly is beyond my comprehension. I would have thought it would be quite difficult to maintain your friendship under those circumstances."

Farrelly added, "You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits." Brennan gaped at him, completely bewildered.

"He means you can say whatever you want about something, but that doesn't change what it is." Booth translated automatically for her, although he decided she was picking up more these days than he'd realised. He might need to have a chat to Angela when they got back to DC.

Brennan eyed them both suspiciously and they returned her look with bland smiles. "Although I agree with the veracity of that statement, I fail to see how boots and biscuits come into it."

"Never mind, Bones. It's just trash talk, doesn't mean anything." She walked out, moving on to finish off their search.

Farrelly sighed. "She's very literal, isn't she? Hot _and_ literal. I'm thinking that could be a very interesting combination." In reply, Booth shoved his friend out of the room and hastily caught up with his partner.

~o0o~

"Booth, this evidence needs to be processed as soon as possible. Perhaps your ATF _'buddy'"_ she put extra emphasis on the term and smiled up at him from under her brows, pleased with herself for correctly using his terminology, "could drop my evidence off at the Jeffersonian when he returns to Washington?"

Booth was painstakingly cataloguing bag numbers and was only half listening to her. "They're not from Washington, Bones, they're from the Louisville Field Division. The Washington boys only go as far as the West Virginia panhandle. If we can't get back to DC ourselves tonight, I'll get Hillyard to overnight them like the last batch."

"I want these samples to go to the lab today." She was put out at the delay, impatient to get the proof that would implicate Joseph Williams or his son in any way. "Couldn't you persuade him that it's another 'perfect example of interagency co-operation'?"

This time he heard the edge in her voice and he gave her a sympathetic look, but he ignored her little dig. "Yeah, well, patience is a virtue, Bones. We won't be able to interview Williams officially until the ATF process him anyway. Matt Hillyard's got him for the time being until he's been looked at by a doctor," he swung her another look and she twisted her mouth to one side guiltily and shrugged, "and we can talk to him here in Weston, but the formal interview will have to wait until he's released into the FBI's custody and we have some solid evidence linking him to the murder."

~o0o~

Shortly after they moved on to the large shed where Booth had first met Williams. He greeted the deputy who was keeping the area secure and followed his partner into the dank interior. The whole area reeked of the sour stench of decomposing mash and the fermenting process itself, but Brennan didn't seem to even notice. The shed measured about forty feet wide and sixty feet long and had obviously housed some sort of machinery at one time; unidentifiable metal parts littered the ground along with hundreds of shards of shattered glass.

While Booth walked around the inner perimeter of the structure, Brennan had already started collecting samples from the floor. He spotted a short length of copper piping that had been stuffed behind some loose wall boards and struggled to pry it loose from its hiding place. Bagged and tagged, he added it to the growing pile outside. Agent Hernandez approached him there, his posture weary.

"Special Agent Booth, I'm arranging transportation of the suspects to the Lewis County lockup when we've finished our search. They'll be detained there for a few hours. I'm assuming you'll want to talk to them before we move them back to the 'Ville?"

Booth nodded, "I'd appreciate that, sir. Still no sign of the son, Ethan aka Hank Williams?"

The senior agent shook his head and scowled, "Apart from the assault charges, there should be enough to get Joseph Williams on the section 5601 illegal production and distribution charges, provided we locate the still, or the parts if its been dismantled. Both of his cohorts have turned over on him already on most of that. But the tip we got on the firearms hasn't come to anything. I was hoping we'd get to Gallagher sideways as well, but no such luck." He rubbed the back of his neck, obviously tired. He leant his weight against the side of an ancient car that was rusting away in front of the shed.

One of the Weston deputies passed nearby, dispensing coffees from a cardboard tray. Booth grabbed one for himself and an extra one for Brennan before they disappeared, calling out, "Hey Bones. I got coffee." She came to the door of the shed straight way, taking one of the coffees wordlessly and sinking to a shady spot on the ground. She looked up at him, one eye scrunched closed against the glare of the sun, now high in the sky. Hernandez smiled vaguely at her, nursing his own coffee and she returned his greeting with an equally vague nod.

"You should really wear a sun hat." This was directed at her partner, who was relishing the feel of the sun on his skin and had tilted his face up to maximize his exposure.

"I don't need a sun hat. They look silly." Booth let his ass connect with the wreck and relaxed back, glad of the break. The radiant heat stored in the metal of the car soothed his lower back.

"Wide brimmed is best. Or I've got some sunscreen in my bag." Brennan gestured towards the rental, where she'd left her handbag.

"I don't need sunscreen." He closed his eyes and soaked up the rays.

"It only takes 15 minutes for the sun to damage your skin." She said solemnly. "You're at risk of melanoma not to mention sunburn, extrinsic aging …"

"I don't care. Wrinkles add character." He jutted his chin out and stayed where he was, but his brows had started to come together in a frown.

"The CDC reports that annually about 54,000 people in the United States are diagnosed with melanomas of the skin, about 38,000 of them men." She was anxious that he fully understand the extent of the risk he was taking.

He opened one eye and looked over at her, the frown now full blown. "Huh? Are men genetically predisposed to melanoma or something?"

"No, that fact hasn't been established empirically with any degree of certainty." She looked at him pointedly. "I think it's fairly logical, however, to conclude that women are more inclined to apply sunscreen and wear a broad brimmed hat as a precaution, whether it looks 'silly' or not." She sighed at the look on his face. "I'm only trying to look out for you."

Hernandez' sudden bark of laughter reminded the partners that they weren't alone. He gave Booth a sympathetic look, "I'd just give in, Agent Booth. I've learned the hard way it doesn't pay to argue with your better half. My wife always tells me she's only got my best interests at heart too."

Booth pushed himself away from the car so fast he spilt his coffee. "No, er- we're not -" He looked at Bones for help, but she just raised her eyebrows and shrugged. She drained her coffee, and passed him the empty cup which he crushed in his hand. Without another word she went back to the darkness of the dilapidated building.

Booth turned to Hernandez, "We're really _not_." _'Not even close.' _His mouth formed into a faint, humorless smile.

~o0o~

"Booth, I think you should look at this." Brennan was on all fours on the dirt floor in one corner of the large shed.

He was at her side in a few steps, unceremoniously putting his hands under her arms and lifting her to her feet. "_Bones_, be careful, there's broken glass everywhere – you'll hurt yourself." She placed her hands on his forearms to steady herself and they exchanged a look that made his heart jump. The silence between them stretched until he broke contact and looked away. "What have you found?"

"Look, there on the floor." He inspected the area she was pointing to but couldn't see anything except dirt. She tsk'd impatiently and pulled on his arm until they were both squatting, then she leant even further down until her nose was almost on the ground.

Booth looked at her in exasperation. "I can't see a thing." He made to get up, but suddenly her hand was on the back of his neck and she pushed, almost overbalancing him. Before he could get annoyed, his eyes finally picked up what she'd been trying to show him. Only visible from that angle, the outline of some sort of square compression could be plainly seen.

"What do you think?" Brennan asked, keeping her head level to his. The contorted position they were in was uncomfortable, and he sat back on his haunches to relieve the ache. He pulled a Leatherman out of his pocket and ran the blade along the edges of the depression, scraping and pulling the dirt away until several closely fitted boards were revealed; some sort of trapdoor. There was a metal ring on one side and Booth prised it up with the point of his knife, looping his fingers through.

They shared a look full of foreboding, both of them aware of the possible implications of the concealed opening. Booth pulled hard, but the soil that had been jammed into the edges had effectively sealed the cover and it didn't give. Brennan grabbed his hands and together they pulled upwards. The door came away with a slight sucking noise and the fetid air that floated up through the gap made Booth swallow hard; the smell of smoke, charred material and something unidentifiable was overpowering. Unmoved by the stench Brennan made to climb down into the blackness until Booth forestalled her movement with a hand on her shoulder. The warmth of his palm stayed her but she turned to him impatiently; he anticipated her eagerness to investigate.

"Let's just check it out first, okay Bones?" He called out to the deputy on guard, who passed them his flashlight. The partners leaned into the gap, shoulder to shoulder as they surveyed the black void.

What they saw left them both silent until Booth ground out through clenched teeth, "Sweet Jesus, Bones, what is this place?" Without conscious thought or awareness they pressed closer together, seeking comfort from one another.

Brennan remained silent as the narrow beam of light picked out the details of the hidden chamber one by one; the mangled remains of a wire bed base, the charred remnants of bedding and what looked like child's clothing. The faint odour of gasoline still hung in the air, leaving them in no doubt that the fire that had consumed half of the contents had been given a helping hand with accelerant. The beam of light picked out the shape of what could only be a car battery. Its crusted terminals hung in surreal focus for several seconds before the light moved on to stumble over a dozen or so wooden boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner of the small area. The absence of charring or smoke stains suggested they'd been placed there since the fire.

"This has to be where Maddy was murdered." Her voice was husky with barely controlled emotion. "I think someone of your religious convictions might describe this as hell, Booth."

~o0o~


	14. When the people beat their feet

**Ooops - don't know what happened there - please accept my apologies ... somehow or other, the edits didn't take properly and there was a bit of gobbledegook loaded. Hopefully, everything is fixed now! Cheers!  
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_A/N: Well, this has taken a while, hope all those of you who have been here for me all the way along enjoy it. Thanks for everyone's patience! Nothing like a few enthusiastic PM's to get the juices flowing again – LOL! This is the last chapter – and it's a long one! - and I'm posting a shorter Epilogue at the same time, so settle back and enjoy the ride. I'd love to hear your thoughts :D_

_With special thanks to cathmarchr – you're one in a million, possum, and I'm so lucky!_

_Hearts and hugs and all things good to my friend and beta, paxmundi, without your help I wouldn't have got here!_

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!) _

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Chapter Fourteen: When the people beat their feet …

* * *

"You're _not_ going down there." Brennan was emphatic. She stood her ground, nose to nose to with a very tall, very muscular operative of the Bureau of Alcohol, Firearms, Tobacco and Explosives. She wasn't a small woman, but next to the beefy bulk of the ATF agent she looked delicate and willowy. But there was nothing delicate and willowy about the look on her face; acid determination set her mouth in a hard line and her eyes were icily adamant.

"Ma'am, we've got jurisdiction." The man's colour had started to deepen, and he looked distinctly uncomfortable; he wasn't enjoying crossing this woman.

"This is a murder scene. You're not touching a thing until I've had a chance to examine everything properly." Her eyes darted around, seeking her partner. "Booth!" She called imperiously, but he wasn't within earshot.

"Ma'am, as far as I understand it, only a _suspected_ murder scene. We have a warrant specifically listing weapons. As soon as Special Agent Booth identified those boxes you found as containing the guns we've been looking for, we got -"

"I don't care. If you contaminate the evidence we may never catch the killer." _Where is Booth?_ Her eyes darted around, unable to spot her partner anywhere. Sighing impatiently she pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the stored numbers.

The ATF agent watched her suspiciously. "Who are you calling?"

"Jim Nelson." Brennan dropped the name casually, but watched the man from under her lashes, hoping he knew the import of the name she had just dropped. Her innate honesty warred with her driving determination to preserve the scene in any way she could. Where was Booth?

"_Acting Director_ Nelson who runs the ATF, ma'am? My boss's boss's boss?" The agent's voice displayed a telltale tremor and went up half an octave.

"I'm unfamiliar with the chain of command in your organisation or where you fit into it, but yes, I believe Jim Nelson is the acting head of the Agency. I've got him on speed dial." Her thumb hovered over the key pad and she pinned the large agent with a cold stare. He swallowed convulsively, his throat suddenly dry, and backed off, no doubt about to run to Hernandez and whine like a baby. Brennan watched him go, a smile of grim satisfaction barely curving her lips. She felt a hand placed against a familiar spot on her back and instinctively leant into its warmth, feeling some of the tension that had buoyed her during the exchange drain away at the contact.

"Do you really know Acting Director Nelson, Bones?" Booth spoke over her shoulder, keeping his voice low while the other agent was still in view.

"Yes, of course." She spun around, and his hand grazed her hip before he let it drop. The look she gave him was a disturbing mixture of innocence and guile. "We met at the ATF fire research laboratory in Beltsville. He invited me to guest lecture on the dynamics of thermal impact on skeletal structure and morphology using short-amplicon marker analysis. Nothing very demanding."

"For you maybe." Booth gave her a narrow look, his hands going to his hips. "And you've got him on speed dial?"

She lowered her eyes, colour staining her cheeks. She wasn't sure how he'd react to her admission. "Well, actually, no, but I wasn't going to tell that quasi-Neanderthal."

Booth chuckled with delight, putting an arm over her shoulder and squeezing her soundly. He leaned in close until his breath tickled her face and she could feel the tiny hairs there moving in response. "Bones! You played him. You just played a federal agent." He pressed his lips against her temple in a chaste, brotherly gesture. "I'm so proud of you! My little girl's growing up." She turned her face towards him, excitement overriding the confusion his words invoked, making her eyes sizzle. Her expression slammed into his heart. Her exhilaration was catching and he hugged her again. He didn't burst her bubble by mentioning that he'd just spoken to Hernandez and cleared first access to the scene.

"I have a confession to make." She dropped her eyes, chewing on one side of her lip nervously.

"What's that?" Booth let his arm drop, giving her some space. He wasn't sure what she was about to say, but the fact that she was avoiding looking at him directly made him apprehensive. Brennan was rarely evasive.

"Although it's not logical, and the inherent dishonesty of what I just did disturbs me, I find I enjoyed being manipulative." Her eyes lifted and fixed on his, the dark ring of color at the edge of her irises exposed as she waited, round-eyed, for him to speak. She wasn't aware that she held her breath, hoping for his approbation. He saw the entreaty there and a slow smile spread across his face. He leaned in towards her, his tone conspiratorial.

"Yeah, it's kinda fun, isn't it?" His eyes were alight with glee and she caught the mood, her smile a mixture of agreement and relief.

~o0o~

Booth stood on the dirt floor of the subterranean chamber, his legs braced apart and his forearms corded with the effort involved in muscling up the wooden crates that were now the focus of the ATF investigation. Farrelly and a junior agent knelt at the edge of the trapdoor, taking the weight of the sixty pound box as Booth manhandled it upwards. Hernandez stood close by, watching the transfer of the goods avidly. The crates bore the product stamp of a popular, middle-of-the-road brand of dinnerware, the familiar chef's hat logo suggesting a far more prosaic cargo. Hernandez stepped forward impatiently as the first crate slapped heavily onto the earth floor, steel bar in hand, and cracked its ribs in his zealousness. All eyes were on Hernandez as he ripped away the shrink wrap and dense foam that concealed the real contents.

"M4 Carbine." It was Farrelly who spoke, glancing over at Booth as he identified the weapon.

"Is that significant? Isn't it just a regular rifle?" Brennan had perched herself on a ledge under a boarded up window but her watchful eyes caught the look that Farrelly and Booth exchanged. She was chafing at the delay and trying to keep out of the way while Booth removed the crates from her scene; he was the only one she trusted down there not to compromise the evidence, apart from herself.

Farrelly answered her. "M4s are specialists' weapons. Only the Rangers, Special Ops and the 82nd Airborne use them. Standard army issue is the M16 combat rifle." He picked up the weapon and checked it over with the familiarity borne of his former career. "Brand new, still greased up. Someone probably hijacked these before the Army took possession." He looked over to Hernandez. "It should be relatively easy to track these, sir - the serial numbers are intact. And there's a good chance the plastic wrapping will give us some prints, although sometimes it's not the best surface. This stuff looks okay. We might just catch a break and big boss Gallagher himself has handled these."

Brennan pushed herself off the ledge to crouch beside Booth who was still perched on the ladder that led down to the underground room. Only his head and shoulders were visible above the floor. "This is the gun you used to use in the Rangers?" Brennan asked him curiously, extending a gloved finger to touch the cold metal. She didn't stop to analyse why she felt compelled to inspect the weapon so closely, nor did she have any trouble imagining the weapon in Booth's confident hands. She did, however, have quite a bit of trouble getting the image out of her head.

"Sometimes. Mostly I used an M24." Hernandez' head snapped around at Booth's quiet comment, his respect for the FBI agent instantly nudged up several notches. Hernandez was well aware the M24 was the preferred weapon for Army snipers.

"Why would anyone go to all this trouble when you can purchase a gun from almost anywhere? It isn't logical." Brennan didn't see any real value in the cache.

Hernandez answered. "These aren't available on the open market and they're worth about eight times the ticket price on the black market, serials filed off. A lot more reliable than Chinese imports. This is going to look great on my CV."

"Are you going to be much longer?" Brennan asked, finding Hernandez' last comment distasteful and rapidly losing interest in the armoury they'd uncovered. She tried to peer into the darkness below floor level but her view was obscured by her partner's broad back. Booth sheeshed at her impatience and rolled his eyes, but backed down obediently – even though he was muttering under his breath - and got on with his self-appointed task. He caught Farrelly's cynical look at the last second and returned it with a sneer. Farrelly sniggered.

It took another ten minutes for Booth to heave the last of the crates out of the pit and into the custody of the ATF, fulfilling his end of the bargain that would allow Brennan unlimited access to what was essentially the ATF's crime scene. There were eight crates in all, a total of thirty M4 Carbines and fifty M16s, the Army's standard issue combat rifle. Hernandez couldn't contain his glee at the haul, and he spat impatient instructions at his subordinates to get the guns loaded into the trucks. A moment later Booth and Brennan were alone, the whirl of dust motes the only evidence of the recent frenetic ATF activity.

"Let's get this over with." He said bleakly, staring into the blackness of Maddy's prison. He led the way, holding the ladder steady as Brennan backed down the last few shaky rungs.

"Now I get why Maddy chose a cave to live in when she ran away." Booth's voice was hushed and they stood for a moment or two trying to take in their surroundings. "It must have been so familiar to her. Do you think maybe she was even comforted by the dark? That maybe she needed it to feel safe after so long here?" He looked around him, the light from above barely reaching into the corners of the tiny room. He shuddered, his fertile imagination not really serving him well in this place, the reality of the child's existence weighing him down.

"That sounds like psychology." Brennan said, her tone curt.

"It's not psychology, it's empathy."

Brennan gave him a disdainful look but otherwise ignored him.

"And what's with everything being only half burned? Why didn't everything burn? The smell of gasoline is strong down here, so the room was obviously doused with it." He pointed to the alligatoring evident on one of the rough timber lined walls. "The fire burned hot here, but not over there – that bit's only got smoke damage."

Brennan took a photo of the burnt timber which had blistered and warped and bore a marked resemblance to the hide of the genus _Crocodylus_. She considered Booth's question for a moment. "Could the seal on the trapdoor have been airtight? It was hard to open."

Booth climbed a couple of rungs back up the ladder and inspected the edges of the opening. Sure enough, mud had been rammed into the gaps which had effectively created an airtight seal, even though it had started to crumble away now. He tapped the underside of the door with his knuckles; it was lined with sheetmetal. "Without oxygen to feed it the fire extinguished itself. Looks like Williams was too clever for his own good."

"That's not a logical conclusion." Again with the attitude.

Booth's brows shot up in surprise at Brennan's dismissive words, but he didn't take it any further. He wasn't feeling too chipper himself. His eyes roved over the room's contents, coming to rest on something on a battered chest of drawers that had almost completely escaped damage from the fire. He blew the ash away gently. "Look, the date on this newspaper is from five years ago. Do you think they kept her down here that long?"

"I have no way of knowing, Booth." Brennan's answer was abrupt, almost curt. She was examining the mangled remains of the bed base, and the camera flash left the image ghosting on his retinas for a few moments. "We don't actually know that she lived here."

"What? What are you talking about? You were the one who -" Booth was incredulous, and he flung his arm out in a sweeping gesture taking in the small, threadbare clothes, the bed, a broken hairbrush and a small doll whose face was melted into a blob of charred plastic. "What else could have happened here?" As he spoke, the flash went off again and Brennan carefully lifted the charred remains of a child's hand knitted sweater and placed it in an evidence bag.

"Facts, Booth. We need to prove that she was here." She turned away dismissively.

"What's got into you?" Irritation at her attitude lent his voice heat. "Look around. She was here."

Brennan was bent over what looked like a car battery that was laying on its side next to the wreckage of the bed. Two electrical cables were still attached to the terminals and she examined them minutely, taking her time. When she eventually spoke, her demeanour was infuriatingly composed. "You know I only deal in facts. You're the one who has to bring emotion into every equation."

Booth stared at her back, his lips pressed together in a thin line as his temper started to rise.

Brennan's hands stilled, alert to the change in his breathing. She kept her voice steady, aware that he was angry with her but not really understanding why. "There's some burnt tissue adhering to the terminals. This needs to go back to the Jeffersonian immediately."

"Everything will to go to the Jeffersonian this afternoon; I asked Hillyard to grease a few local wheels for us." He let go a sigh and rubbed his hand across his face. "Look, being down here is making us both edgy. How about we just concentrate on what we've got to do?" He was pissed with her, but tried to let it go.

"Fine with me. I need more light."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Booth set the halogens up wordlessly, if a little over energetically. The _ch-cheak_ of Brennan's flash and the soft whine of the cycle of its battery recharging were the only sounds as they carefully catalogued the rest of the scene.

Brennan finally put the camera and the unused evidence bags aside, peeling off her latex gloves and wiping her damp hands along her thighs. "Please tell Agent Hernandez that his people may have access now." She had a smear of soot across her cheek and perspiration was making her coveralls stick to her back, but the expression on her face said it all. "I've got everything I need."

Booth dropped his eyes to the ground. "Let's go; this place gives me the creeps."

Brennan glanced around one last time, her thoughts unuttered: _'Me too.'_

~o0o~

"Dr B, let's just take a little pause for the cause." Hodgins beckoned hastily to Zack, trying to rev him up a little, but Zack only had one speed. He put the phone on loudspeaker. "Zack's here with me. Dr Saroyan and Ange are on their way. Can you start over?" Brennan's first couple of sentences had been delivered at the speed of light in her agitation to get moving on the evidence, and she drew a deep breath now to steady herself.

"We've found the place where we think the victim was held or indeed lived. I'm sending you all the evidence I've collected so far. It should get to you in the next couple of hours. Dr Hodgins, I need you to examine some blankets that I found at the house for comparison against the blanket we found at the cave, as well as for particulate commonality. The area was set alight, using an accelerant. There are several items that should give a clear indication of what it was. That has to be identified and matched as a matter of urgency."

"I'll run it through the gas chromatographer. We'll have an answer pretty much right away." Hodgins countered the speed of her delivery with calm assurance.

"Good. I'm also sending a number of hair samples and swabs from everyone in custody. I need DNA run on all of them immediately. Zack, as soon as I get off the phone I'll send through the photos I've just taken at the scene. I want you to compare the clamps attached to the battery against the photos of the bruises and marks that were on the body, particularly those on the torso. There was a small scratch to the eighth rib near the right anterior costal margin that we decided was insignificant?"

"I remember, Dr Brennan." Zack tripped over his feet in his eagerness to impress her, bruising his shins against a trolley of instruments. The metallic clatter brought a sigh of impatience from the other end of the phone, and Zack felt his stomach flip in embarrassment.

Brennan articulated her next instructions more deliberately, unintentionally increasing his discomfort tenfold. "When you've thoroughly examined the mark and compared it to the clamps that I'm sending, I want you to excise the area around it and ask Dr Hodgins to recover any particulate that might be there. He might get a match against the clamps. Cam will help you." She tsked in irritation, adding in an undertone directed more to herself than anyone else, "I should really be there to do this. Please tell Cam I need her to physically examine the car battery and cables for epithelials the minute you get them. Dr Hodgins, I also want a comparison of those metal shavings we recovered from the Front Royal site against the structural profile of the battery terminals, as well as a comparison of the hair sample found there."

Cam Saroyan's high heels tapped onto the forensic platform and she spoke up, catching Brennan's sense of urgency. "I'm here, Dr Brennan. What can I do to help?"

"I'm sending a sample of burnt tissue that had adhered to the battery terminals. I believe that it's unlikely that it belonged to our victim, and I need a profile as soon as possible."

Cam gave her assurance that it would have top priority. Brennan continued. "Anything else we can get off the battery and cables will be invaluable. Oh, and Zack, there's a photo of a wire bed base. I need you to get Angela to confirm that it's what caused the singe markings on the victim's clothing, and there's some more clothing that I want you to confirm belonged to the victim."

"I'm here, Bren." Angela piped up. "I'll get onto that the minute it gets in."

"Thanks, Ange. That's everything for now."

"Wait." Angela reached over and took the phone off speaker. "When are you coming home?"

"Soon, I think. We've got to get the results of those tests and find Ethan and prove who murdered our victim. The ATF has several other people in custody that Booth wants us to talk to, as well."

"Are you okay, sweetie? You sound … I don't know … wired."

"I don't know what that means, but we've been really busy this morning."

"How's Booth?"

"Okay, I guess. We're both pretty tired and I find our levels of tolerance have been lowered somewhat."

"You guys are fighting? So what's new? Hey," Angela had dropped her voice and her tone, although everyone except Hodgins had now left the platform. "Are you still staying at that cozy little place you were in? I think you two need to do something to wind down, get all that tension out of your systems." Her voice purred suggestively. "Something physical. Intensely physical. Together. If you know what I mean." Her implication was completely lost on Brennan who was frowning, mystified. "No one needs to know. It would do you both a world of good. You go have fun, sweetie." Angela didn't wait for an answer and hung up the phone, a Cheshire cat grin on her face, satisfied that she'd at least planted a seed in Brennan's mind.

"You're incorrigible, you know that." Hodgins leant back against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"I know." She raised one eyebrow in a challenge, a hand going to her hip. "Do you have an issue with that, Jack?"

A playful smile curled across Hodgins' lips. "Nuh-uh."

~o0o~

Booth was lying stretched out on the grass in the mid-afternoon sun, his fingers linked under his head. It felt good. There was still enough Ranger in him to appreciate catching a break where he could, and right now was a good time. His leather jacket made a comfy pillow as he listened to Brennan bombard her team with detailed instructions. He watched her pace back and forth, her shadow sweeping along the length of his body each time she passed him. She radiated purpose, but he could easily spot the telltale signs that spoke of her fatigue. She dropped down unceremoniously on the ground next to him, legs crossed at an impossible angle, and started to scrutinize the scene photos on the camera's LCD screen while she continued to talk on the phone. She severed the connection, then plugged the camera's data cable into the phone and sent the photos she'd selected to the lab. When she was satisfied they'd gone successfully, she turned everything off and closed her eyes against the glare. A sigh escaped her lips and she reached one hand up and absently kneaded the point at the base of her skull. She looked beat.

"Bones, sometimes you push yourself too hard. Are you sure you're over that tummy bug thing?" Booth's voice made her jump and she blinked hard, looking around her as if she was only now aware of her surroundings.

"I don't do anything you don't do yourself. And I told you, I'm okay. That was nothing, just an inconvenience, a transient anomaly." She brought her knees up close to her chest and linked her arms around them.

"It came, you puked, it went. I get it." Booth rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with his arm, grinning at the dismayed look on her face. "But maybe if you slept more and ate better you wouldn't get sick. You know - "

"I'm hardly ever sick." She cut in, but she smiled at him, amused to realize that she'd heard him use the same tone with Parker on numerous occasions. Their earlier friction was forgotten. "Besides, you were the one that got me up so early this morning!" She added indignantly.

He ignored the interruption. "Like I was gonna say, a good steak would set you up better than anything else."

"I don't eat meat for a very good reason, as you're well aware. I'm not really hungry anyway." She absently pulled at the grass near her feet, letting the torn blades cascade through her fingers.

"Neither am I, but you've got to eat. It's fuel, and your body needs fuel to work properly."

"The metabolic process is more complex than that; at its basis is catabolism, anabolism, the various functions of enzymes including proteases, glycoside hydrolases –" The open mouthed look of disbelief on his face stopped her mid-sentence, and she backtracked the only way she knew how. "But your hypothesis has logical integrity, so I accept what you're saying. You don't have to look after me or counsel me on my diet, Booth." She chided gently, aware that it was only friendly concern that prompted his comments. "Even Ange was giving me advice."

"There's a surprise. What was Angela talking about?"

She stifled a yawn, leaning back on her elbows and stretching her legs out beside him. "She was suggesting that some exercise might be beneficial and restorative, I think."

"Exercise? Yeah, I can see her point." He was warming to the idea, nodding as he considered it. "A good hard workout can be a great stress release."

"Uh-huh. Although she said that no one needs to know. I don't really understand why the two of us doing physical exercise together would interest anyone one way or the other."

"Us? Together?" His voice rose on a squeak as color suffused his face; he'd made the leap in a split second and understood perfectly what Angela was advising. That talk with Angela was now officially overdue.

"She specifically said intense physical exercise." Brennan turned her clear blue eyes to him, looking for the answers he was so good at supplying. "Do you know what she meant?"

"Bowling, Bones, she meant bowling.," was his strangled reply. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the confusion on Brennan's face. "You wait here; I'll go see if I can get us some lunch. It's nearly four."

~o0o~

When Booth came back with a couple of sad looking cheese sandwiches, their edges dried out and curling unappetizingly even under their plastic wrap, he brought Farrelly with him. Brennan was still in the same spot, but was now lying on her side, both hands cradled under her cheek as if she were praying. She'd dozed off, unsurprisingly.

"Now if that ain't a sight worth all the oil in Texas." Farrelly whispered to Booth, taking in the transfixed look on his friend's face with wry amusement. "What you two been doing to get her so tuckered out?" he teased. Farrelly kept his voice low, having already learned to his cost how acute Brennan's hearing was. A heavy cloud scudded across the sun, taking the heat as it traveled. Brennan murmured indistinctly, and brought her knees up a little closer to her body, reaching out a hand and blindly grabbing the jacket that Booth had discarded earlier. She pulled it over her torso and up over her face until only her nose and eyes were visible. With a sigh of satisfaction, she drifted more deeply under.

"I should wake her." Booth's reluctance was obvious.

Farrelly gestured to his friend and they moved further away so as not to disturb the quiescent anthropologist. "Leave her be, Seel, she's done in. Here." He passed him a vacuum flask. "Get some coffee into you. Hernandez is starting to wrap things up here now. Sheriff Hillyard advised us that Joseph Williams has been admitted to the County Hospital, so the local uniforms will keep him safe tonight. Lee-Ann Williams got a mite worked up when they tried to separate her from her sorry-assed husband, and set to with a hissy fit to end all. Hernandez 'didn't see any harm in leaving her in custody here'," he lampooned his boss' nasal tones with wicked accuracy, making Booth grin despite himself, "I tell you, if dumb was dirt, Hernandez'd cover about an acre. There's something catty whompus about that woman. I'm staying in town overnight and I'll take 'em both back to Louisville in the morning. One of the Weston deputies has been detailed to come back with me. What say you and I catch up a bit later on if you like – I'm pretty sure I still owe you a beer from the last time our trails crossed."

Booth chuckled, "It was scotch, and you owe me a bottle - " Farrelly started to argue the point when a small voice cut across their good natured squabbling.

"Is Maddy dead, Special Agent Booth?"

"What the – " Booth swung around at the interruption. Little Jerry Beaumont had somehow managed to creep up on both men, startling them with his diffident question. As he stood half hidden behind the rusting old car, a tiny bundle of tan and white fur tumbled past him, colliding with Booth's legs. Booth leant down absently to pat the dog, but his attention was on the young boy.

"What do you mean, buddy?" He knew he was hedging, but the boy's question caught him by surprise. How do you tell an eleven year old child that his friend was tortured and murdered? There was no answer to that.

"My friend Maddy. They hurt her real bad, didn't they?" Jerry looked up at the house, his expression fearful. Puddin' whined at the lack of attention he was getting, then spotted Brennan's dozing form. In a split second the little dog had pounced on her, licking her face. She got to her knees hastily, chuckling in delight when she realized what had woken her and trying to calm the puppy's frenzied antics. The smile froze on her face when she saw Booth's expression. Beside him, Farrelly was looking uncomfortable.

"What's going on?" Sleep still clung to her, but she had picked up on Booth's tension.

Jerry came towards Brennan at her words, putting his hand on the dog's rope collar to quieten him.

"Jerry. What are you doing here?" She hadn't expected to see the young boy here, at this place.

"Hello, Dr Brennan. I saw all the trucks and I thought maybe you was here too. I saw those other officers take Joseph Williams and them others away. Dr Brennan, is Maddy dead? No one will tell me. When I ask my Mama she just tells me to hush up."

"Bones - " Booth cautioned, worried at what might come out of her mouth. This was a tricky situation and she could be unbelievably blunt sometimes. Make that most of the time. He started to mentally frame a kind way of explaining the truth, but his partner was already answering.

"Yes, Jerry, we think Maddy is dead." Brennan spoke solemnly, looking straight at the boy. Booth's expression was pained; why couldn't she be gentler with him?

To his surprise, a look of relief flooded the boy's face, followed closely by a frown as he mulled over the information silently for a moment. Eventually he nodded sadly, "Guessed as much. She never would have gone away for so long if something bad hadn't'a happened to her." He placed his arms around Brennan's neck and she returned the embrace gingerly. "I appreciate ya'll telling me straight up." He backed off a little bit, adding. "I'm not a baby, y'know." But as he said it his bottom lip started to quaver and tears filled his eyes. He threw himself back into Brennan's embrace, holding on tight while sobs racked his little body, and she hugged the child to her unreservedly.

Both men were moved by the sight, and Booth went over and knelt down beside his partner, placing a hand on Jerry's back. "You okay, buddy?" He asked softly.

Jerry drew back from Brennan's arms reluctantly. "Yessir. I guess I knew it already." He roughly knuckled the tears from his face, leaving a smear of dirt across his cheek that Booth used his handkerchief to wipe away. "I guess I'd better be off home now." Jerry was suddenly shy. He stood and gave two short whistles bringing Puddin obediently to his side, tail wagging like a metronome.

"If you wait a while, we'll give you a ride." Brennan said, looking to Booth for confirmation as he reached out a hand to help her up, but the little boy shook his head regretfully.

"Nah, thanks, Dr Brennan, but it's faster if I go 'round the back way. You can cut straight through to our place from here. Mama don't know I've gone, so unless I want a licking, I better git." He stood irresolute; there was more on his mind.

"You'll put 'em in jail, won't you mister?" Jerry directed his question to Farrelly, who replied unfalteringly.

"Yessir, we will."

"And Ethan too?" This he directed to Booth and Brennan.

"I give you my solemn promise that when we locate Ethan Williams, Agent Booth will be placing him into custody." Brennan replied earnestly.

Jerry's face darkened. "He's around. I seen him at the caves last night. He was there with his truck, unloading stuff."

"_What_?" Booth asked, his voice harsh with surprise. "When was this?"

"Last night, just before sundown. He's long gone now, I reckon. I gotta go." He paused, and just for a moment the man he would become gazed back at them, clear eyed and composed. "Maddy was real nice to me, and I liked her a lot. I'll never forget her." Boy and dog disappeared almost as silently as they'd come, leaving the three adults looking at each other, stunned.

"Bones, we should go and check it out right away." Booth looked over at Farrelly. "It could be the still that he was hiding. You coming?"

"Hell yeah!"

~o0o~

It only took a short time to get to the clearing where they'd ended up that night. When Booth slowed down as they passed the spot where the SUV had crashed, they fell quiet. The glance they exchanged was initially wary; both of them thinking of the closeness they'd felt that night. But then Booth found his lips quirking up into a full grin when Brennan let her head fall to one side, looking over at him with a rueful smile.

Suddenly Farrelly's head bobbed forward between the two front seats, breaking the mood. "You see what I see, Special Agent?"

Booth narrowed his eyes, following Farrelly's nod; the smallest flash of red and the suggestion of a man's figure through the undergrowth at the head of the track. He pulled the rental to the side of the track immediately and killed the engine. He was about to tell Brennan to stay with the car when he realized she was out already and heading to the path that led up to the cave. He scrambled out of the car and unceremoniously grabbed her arm, pulling her down to a crouch behind the nearest bush.

"Bones!" His hissed through clenched teeth. "Stay down. There's someone up there." Farrelly came beside them, his weapon drawn. The two men seemed to communicate their plan of action without words, and they turned to head up either side of the track. Booth paused to give his partner a fierce look over his shoulder. "Stay!" Brennan was mildly put out but nodded, hunkering back onto her heels and carefully parting the foliage to try and get a better look. She followed Booth's stealthy departure until he disappeared into the undergrowth.

~o0o~

Booth knew Farrelly was on the other side of the rough track, keeping pace, but the former soldier's progress was as low profile as his own. As they moved nearer to the cluster of caves, Booth could hear the tuneless whistle of a man who believes himself to be unobserved. He cautiously peered out from behind his cover. Yep, that was Ethan Williams all right, no doubt whatsoever. He felt his heart rate pick up, anticipation thrumming through his body. He watched a moment longer as Ethan offloaded a carton from the back of a dilapidated pickup, the heavy clink of glass against glass giving a broad hint to its contents. He checked Farrelly's position, and spotted him about thirty yards away. Williams was only about ten yards from Booth, and he gave a hand signal to Farrelly that he'd take the perp. Farrelly acknowledged the plan with a slow nod, and melted back into the greenery.

Booth edged forward a few more feet, hastily drawing back behind cover when Williams stopped what he was doing and looked idly around, lighting a hand rolled cigarette. Booth heard the distinctive sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle, and he risked a quick glance at his quarry. Williams was sampling the goods, the level of liquid in the bottle suggesting it wasn't for that first time that afternoon.

"FBI. Ethan Williams, stay right where you are." Booth stood slowly, taking his time, his feet spaced apart and Glock braced in both hands in typical shooter's stance. Williams was taken by surprise and swung around, shock evident of his face. As he spun, he let go of the half empty bottle of moonshine, the impetus of his wild turn giving the missile momentum. Booth ducked, the bottle missing him widely, but the sour stench of the alcohol fumed around him as the bottle spewed its contents on its trajectory past him. Williams spat out his cigarette, the burning end landing near the overproof spill and the fumes caught alight with an impressive _whoomph_, quickly catching the leaf litter and spitting little orange flames in every direction. Williams darted behind the flames and smoke. Booth lost sight of him for a moment, his eyes starting to water and sting from the smouldering leaves. A flash of red up and to his right gave Booth enough to start in the right direction, calling out to Farrelly to get the fire under control as he charged after their suspect.

Booth was at a disadvantage; he knew Williams was intimately familiar with the caves and crevices in the vicinity, but he ran full tilt after him anyway. The red jacket was like a beacon and Booth called out another warning when Williams came into clear view. A split second later he'd disappeared again. Booth paused to get his bearings, searching the immediate area. His eyes widened with alarm when he realised that not two feet in front of him was a deep fissure, partially obscured by the angle of the opening and some tall clumps of mountain grass.

When Williams slid his arm across Booth's neck from behind, he reacted instantly, spinning on the balls of his feet so that they were face to face, smoothly re-holstering his gun to give him the use of both hands. He was shocked to see how young Williams was close up; he looked as if he'd barely started shaving. But he fought like the ex-con he was, and they grappled for several moments, the seconds stretching out until unexpectedly Booth felt Williams' body relax, the fight apparently going out of him.

"Ethan Williams, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Maddy Britten - "

Booth heard the shot ring out, watched the red stain spreading over Ethan Williams' shirt. He glanced around automatically and saw Farrelly with his weapon still aimed towards them. Ethan's body started to fall in on itself, the handgun he'd had concealed under his jacket clattering to the ground. As his knees buckled so he started to overbalance from the force of the bullet, and he tried to straighten, throwing himself backwards.. Booth instinctively reached out to stop him falling. For a split second Ethan look terrified and about twelve years old as fear took over his face, the sound of his breath whistling out of the hole in his chest. Then his expression inexplicably hardened and he grabbed a handful of Booth's tee-shirt. Farrelly could see what was happening and called out, but he was still too far away to help.

Everything was happening in slow motion, his Booth's mind registering every tiny detail. They teetered on the edge of the fissure for a moment, each trying to change the centre of gravity, and then Booth thought he heard Brennan's guttural cry "_No!_". His attention shifted infinitesimally, and he felt himself start to fall forwards, towards the darkness of the fissure's entrance.

Suddenly he had the wind knocked out of him as Brennan barrelled into him at full speed from the side, changing the equation and shifting the balance. He heard her grunt as the force of her onslaught knocked all three of them sideways and backwards until they fell in a tangle of limbs, away from the edge of the deep drop. Farrelly was there seconds later, pulling the injured Ethan to one side, checking for a pulse and slipping handcuffs deftly over his unresponsive wrists.

"Bones, I can't believe you did that. Where the hell did you come from?" Booth lay where he'd fallen, still reeling from the impact of her body. "Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" She was lying heavily across him, her hair tickling his face, but he noticed the smear of blood down the side of her face and his stomach clenched reflexively.

"I'm okay." She hastened to reassure him and he reached up to touch her face to make sure. "It's Williams' blood." They were both breathing hard; adrenaline and fear compounding the physical energy they'd just exerted. His hands curled around her upper arms and he gave her a tiny shake, "Are you ever going to do as you're told and just stay put?"

She looked down at him, her nose almost touching his. She shook her head, the hint of a shaky smile curving her mouth and he answered it by wrapping his arms around her, getting rid of the space that separated them, hugging her close.

"Do you two need to get a room or something?" Farrelly wisecracked, breaking the spell, and Brennan rolled off Booth awkwardly. "Do you think, Special Agent, you could maybe hold onto this while I call the medics?" His question was posed calmly enough, but blood was already oozing through the makeshift compress Farrelly had placed against Williams' wound.

Booth crawled over to Williams, putting pressure on the blood soaked compress and grabbing him by the collar with his other hand, trying to rouse him and keep him focussed. "Stay with us, Ethan. Why did you do that to her? Why did you kill that little girl?"

Ethan's breathing was shallow and laboured as he drifted in and out of consciousness, but he found the strength to murmur indistinctly, "I didn't kill Maddy, I swear man, I didn't hurt her." He stopped as a jolt of pain rocked through his body and he shuddered. His voice was barely a whisper as he went on, " I helped her … we moved the body. It was her … it was all her …" He winced again, the rasping sound of his breathing painful to hear, summoning his energy. "I cut the brake lines on your truck, to help Daddy." His eyes lost their focus and he seemed to ramble, " I've been toein' the line. I didn't touch that girl … she was Mama's." The color washed out of his face, and his eyes drifted half closed. "I've been good, Mama..." His voice broke and his face crumpled, then went slack as he lost consciousness for the last time.

Brennan had moved to Booth's side, crouching over them both to hear the exchange. She turned to her partner, at a loss. "Booth, what did he mean? I don't understand."

"Neither do I, Bones, but I'm starting to wonder if maybe we've been looking at the wrong Williams."

~o0o~

Booth picked his way back down to the rental, glad to leave the chaos of the scene at the caves behind him. Hillyard and his deputies had been the first to arrive, closely followed by the ATF and finally the local ME, a semi-retired gastroenterologist who practiced out of Elkins, around an hour's drive away.

Brennan was sat in the passenger seat, taking out her frustration at the delay on her cell phone.

""You do remember the reason we ended up here the whole night is because we couldn't get a cell phone signal?" Booth's dry reminder didn't interrupt her efforts. "We'll be back in Weston in about forty minutes; you won't get a signal long before that."

When Booth didn't start the car immediately, Brennan put her phone aside. "What's wrong? Have you forgotten something?"

Booth half turned in his seat, his brows drawn together as he contemplated recent events. "We've been looking at Ethan Williams for the torture and murder ever since we heard about him and his creepy pastimes. Even Sweets agreed that his profile put Ethan at the top of our list." Booth caught the cynicism on her face. He waved one hand dismissively before she had a chance to speak. "I know, I know. Let's not go there right now."

Brennan shrugged off the urge to disparage Sweets' chosen discipline and mentally ran through the facts. Nothing had changed. "So what's different now, what are you thinking?"

"Well, if we believe Ethan's last words -"

"Sweets would say a dying man's motivation to lie would be negligible." Brennan's voice was steady and reasonable, and Booth was touched to hear her giving serious consideration to a field she believed vague at best.

"Ethan wasn't lying." Booth declared. "I don't think it was him."

"But .. then who?"

"Someone taught him to be the way he was, Bones. We need to get back to Weston. I want to have a talk with his mother, Lee-Ann Williams."

~o0o~

Brennan's phone rang the minute they were back in range of a signal. She checked the display: it was Hodgins. She put him on speaker so they could both hear what he had to report.

"Dr B, we've got preliminary results on some of the evidence you sent us, but it's not pointing to Ethan Williams" His voice bounced around the cab of the vehicle, a verbal drum roll. "Hold on to your hats people … we've identified it as matching the swab for Lee-Ann Williams, the mother – it's her tissue on the battery terminals, her epitheleals on the cables, her hair on the blanket found at the cave and at Front Royal. The metal shavings are a match, same gasoline, everything. Zack's made a preliminary finding that the bruising and scratch injuries were caused by the clamps. It's all there – everything you need for a conviction. Once we had her DNA, it was like a domino effect – the pieces just fell together." Hodgins voice was buoyed with success at the results. "We'll finish all the other testing as soon as possible."

"Thanks, Hodgins. We've got Mrs Williams in custody and we're on our way to interview her now."

She exchanged a grim look with Booth, and he put his foot down on the gas. They sped towards the lights of Weston which were just emerging in the half light of dusk.

~o0o~

Brennan observed Lee-Ann Williams from the other side of the two-way glass while Booth took a call from his office. The woman sat cuffed to the interview table, her eyes puffy and red rimmed. Her blond hair hung lank over her once attractive face and she turned empty eyes to Hillyard when he entered the room. All the fight had gone out of her at the news of her son's death.

Brennan looked at Booth expectantly as he finished his call, "Charlie's just confirmed that Ethan was in Charlestown at the time of Maddy's death. He was actually in jail for drunkenness, under an assumed name, can you believe it?. Seems his new employer is a pretty straight up sort of guy, and Williams was trying to avoid getting fired. Maybe Ethan really was trying to change, in his own weird way." Booth leant one shoulder against the glass that separated them from the interview room and looked at its occupant with distaste. "Let's get this over with."

~o0o~

"She always was a weak little thing – useless 'round the house." Lee-Ann Williams' nasal whine grated on Booth's ears. "Not worth her keep, dropping and breaking things all the time. But my husband Joey had a soft spot for her, reckoned she'd had a tough time, and that it was our place to take her in after her mother died. Put her to work outside, that suited her better, helpin' him in the fields and running to and fro' for him. His lungs are bad – he can't do like he used to." Then her eyes lost their sharp focus, and her voice fell to a soft mutter. "She just never did a damned thing proper … useless creature." Strength came back into her voice and she speared each of them with an almost manic stare. "And I didn't like the way my Joey had started lookin' at her. But I learned her. She knew what was what quick enough when she felt the lick of them volts. She deserved everything she got."

Brennan was out of her seat before anyone could stop her, outrage transforming her features and roughening her voice as she leant in close to her. "You tortured that child because she was clumsy ... until her heart gave out? And then you cut her throat? You disgust me."

Booth was on his feet in a flash and put both hands on his partner's shoulders before she did something she'd regret.

"Bones - come on. She's not worth the trouble." His voice was calm and soothing and the fury drained away from her almost as soon as she felt his touch. But there was still one question she needed the answer to and she turned back to the repellent woman. "Did you do it on purpose? Did you kill Maddy on purpose?"

The woman shrugged, indifferent. "She was more trouble than she was worth. I couldn't'a cared less if she was alive or dead. Better off dead."

Booth shifted his weight slightly and turned to Hillyard, surreptitiously shielding Brennan from the malevolence that was Lee-Ann Williams. "Get that … prisoner … out of my sight."

~o0o~

It was fully dark when Brennan and Booth finally stepped out onto the pavement in front of the Municipal Center, bureaucracy having kept them tied up about an hour longer than they really needed or wanted to be. They stood in companionable silence for a minute or two, breathing in the quiet and the dark appreciatively; exhausted but satisfied at the outcome of the day's events. The metallic shriek of the door opening behind them brought them out of their reverie. It was Farrelly, stretching and yawning as he joined them at the edge of the almost deserted street.

"You two wanna get something to eat?" He asked hopefully.

Booth's easy "Sure." overlapped with Brennan's emphatic "No!".

When Booth looked at her questioningly, she frowned back at him, "I thought we were going bowling?"

He started to laugh, but his laughter drained away when he saw that she was in earnest. "You really want to go bowling?" She nodded back, a little confused by his surprise.

He glanced enquiringly over at the large ATF agent who just shrugged and replied with a grin. "I'm in. I'm thinking that sounds like just the right sort of end to the day we've had."

~o0o~

Another rumble shook the lane, and Brennan shifted uneasily. She was still acclimating to the sensations and sounds that filled the vast space of the bowling alley.

"Hodgins came back to me with the rest of the results." Brennan had to raise her voice to make sure she was heard. She was sitting forward in her seat, watching the Texan intently as he flung the ball down the lane with unfailing accuracy; he seemed to be very accomplished at placing the ball in the correct position to knock down all the pins. "There are no anomalies that could cast any doubt on Lee-Ann Williams being the perpetrator."

"Good to know." Booth was watching the animation that lit her face, fascinated by the way she seemed to sparkle when she was learning something new.

Brennan swung around, catching the look on his face but not understanding it. She dropped her eyes, her mood suddenly somber, and he was taken by surprise by her next words. "All throughout this investigation, I've been reminded of parts my own childhood. First Maddy, then even Jerry. I had a lot in common with each of them at different points in my life."

Booth kept his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to reach out and take hold of her hand. "I know that, Bones."

"But I turned out okay. I'm very successful." She spoke in her usual confident way, but her eyes remained downcast.

He chucked her under the chin, raising her head until their eyes met. "You turned out great." She seemed to take heart from that, but sadness clung to her expression.

Booth sensed the need to shift her focus, and he changed changed the subject smoothly. "So … we'll be back in DC tomorrow. Looking forward to getting home, Bones?"

She nodded, relaxing back against the studded banquette. "Although objectively our experiences here were mixed, I find I'm going to miss West Virginia, Booth. I like it here."

"Yeah, me too. Apart from the whole weird torture-murder-sleep-with-your-sister thing." Booth glanced over at her from under his brows, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

"Booth, I think you'll find the hillbilly inbreeding myth has been debunked. Genetic diversity - "

"It was a joke, Bones."

"Oh. Okay." She smiled uncertainly.

"Hey," He slapped his hands on his thighs in his enthusiasm as a thought occurred to him, "Wanna get Chinese on the way back? We can bump our flights back a little and return the rental a bit later. Somebody told me about a place just outside of Pittsburgh that does dim sum all day every day." Booth's enthusiasm was engaging; there was something about the suggestion that had 'naughty schoolboy' written all over it.

"Okay." Brennan agreed slowly. The idea of playing hooky with Booth was suddenly very appealing. She grinned. "But I'd rather have Indian."

"Aw, c'mon Bones." Booth cajoled. "Dim sum. All day every day – does it get any better? All those little dumplings and red bean things. And chicken feet – you can have chicken feet. I know you like all that exotic stuff."

"Although I have eaten fried tarantulas in Cambodia and raw turtle eggs in Nicaragua it was in the interest of furthering my anthropological expertise. I draw the line at the feet of chickens." Her expression was prim.

"You ate raw _what_?" Booth tried not to look too revolted.

"Mmm. They look like boiled ping pong balls. You eat them with hot sauce."

"Wait, you ate tortoise eggs –"

"Turtle. They were turtle eggs."

"Whatever, you ate raw eggs with hot sauce but you draw the line at chicken feet. Is it against your vegetarian values or something?

"It's against my taste values. They're …" she scrunched up her nose, " … yucky."

"Taste values?" He started laughing. "There's no such thing. You're just chicken."

Only Brennan would laugh so delightedly at such a bad pun, and she did. "Bo-oth!"

Farrelly rejoined them on the bench, a look of triumph on his face. So far he'd bowled three strikes in a row and planned to keep it up. Booth looked up at him suspiciously. "You been practicing, Farrelly?"

Farrelly nodded solemnly, trying to keep his face straight. "I go bowling once every few years to make sure I still hate it." He answered facetiously. He stretched his legs out in front of him, his mood expansive.

"How does your case look?" Booth set his empty beer bottle down, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. Brennan left them to it and went to take her turn on the lane.

"Watertight. With the distilling equipment and all that stock recovered from its hidey hole up at the caves, there's enough to keep a few attorneys busy for a good long while. Joseph Williams is keeping quiet, but Lee-Ann's talking like there's no tomorrow. She's given us everything."

"Thanks for your help up there." Booth offered quietly, referring to what had happened at the caves. They hadn't mentioned the shooting since it had occurred, but Booth couldn't leave it unacknowledged any longer. "It could have ended differently for me if you hadn't seen him going for that gun."

Farrelly shrugged off his thanks, nodding instead to Brennan who was methodically testing the weight of the bowling balls that were sitting in the return. "That's quite a gal you've got there. When she flew at you and knocked you back, I let out a holler louder'n if the Texans had finally got to the playoffs."

Booth had been watching his partner. Brennan took four precise steps, being careful to start slowly and increase her speed exponentially the closer she got the dots that delineated the zones.

He directed a teasing comment at her. "Hey Bones, that's a foul."

"Wh-what? Did I do something disgusting?" She looked around guiltily, but no one was looking at her strangely.

"You had your foot over the line. It's called a foul. Go back and try again."

She pulled a face, comically disappointed at her lack of technique. "All I can seem to do is butterballs."

"The expression's 'gutter ball' Bones, and everyone does those when they start out. Keep trying, you'll get the hang of it. They say that a ball entering the pocket on the seventeenth board on the ten pin side will give you a strike one hundred per cent of the time. There's a study about it and everything." Brennan looked impressed. "And watch out, it's an oily lane, so you're going to need more hook."

She paused, processing his advice, then turned on her heel and started her approach again. He watched as her eyes counted the boards, and that made him grin. That was his Bones – she liked to do things right.

Her cell phone rang and she waggled it at Booth, miming that the call was from Angela. Both men watched her progress through the late Friday night crowd to find somewhere a little less hectic to take the call.

"Your little lady there reminds me so much of Claire; she's a firecracker all right." Farrelly referred to his wife affectionately. He opened another beer with a gentle _ffft _and passed it to Booth.

Booth kept his eyes on Brennan but responded to Farrelly in a mildly skeptical tone. "Claire's five foot nothing and kinda … cuddly – where's the similarity?"

"Mmm, one thing you can say about Claire is she's warm in winter, shady in summer." Farrelly patted his stomach fondly, "And she can surely cook up a storm." He laughed at his own joke, then settled down as he observed, "Attitude, Seel – they both got attitude by the shovel load. I like that in a woman. And I can see that you and Tempe have got the same kind of connection I have with Claire; that's the most important part of any relationship."

"Yeah well, Bones and I have a different kind of relationship. We're partners." Booth took a long swig from the bottle, drowning the nagging flat feeling his own words brought.

Farrelly sensed that he'd stumbled into a no-go zone, and changed to a teasing chuckle. "You always were a bit of a maverick when it came to the ladies, Seel. Never knew which way you were going to jump."

~o0o~

Brennan had found a quiet spot behind the kiosk, the noise of the lanes only a muffled rumble from there.

Angela's voice cut effervescently through the background noise. "Hey sweetie, we got your message that the wife had confessed to Maddy's murder. That's great news."

"Yes, it's a relief to have it finally over. Oh, and I took your advice about physical activity, Ange. I really feel much better – re-energised."

"You _what_?" Angela slipped off her chair, almost landing on her ass in shock. She let herself slide gently down the rest of the way onto the floor.

"You said Booth and I should have a workout. It wasn't quite what I imagined, but it was very effective nonetheless. Booth invited his friend Kirk Farrelly as well. It's been fun. I've been pleasantly surprised that three people would work in this scenario so well. I've always thought it was limited to pairs."

"_What?_ Why is it so noisy there? Wait … w_hat?_ " " Angela's voice went up an octave. "Brennan, are you trying to make me insane? Sweetie, tell me you didn't – "

"Booth's really in peak physical condition." Brennan thought maybe Angela would like to have her confirm that observation. Angela was unable to articulate more than a groan.

"I had no idea bowling was so physically demanding," Brennan continued, "although I don't believe that I would classify it as 'intense'."

"Wait. Where are you … you're talking about _bowling_?"

"Ye-es. What are you talking about?"

"Oh, Brennan." Angela sighed, exasperated.

"I'd better go Ange, it's my turn to throw a spare frame. We'll see you soon."

~o0o~

When Brennan returned, Farrelly elbowed Booth into getting up. "C'mon, your little lady is going to cause some damage at this rate. Let's show her how it's done."

The two men left their seats and joined Brennan on the glossy timber boards of the lane approach. Booth went to take the ball from her so that he could demonstrate how to correctly position it but Brennan evaded his reach, backing away, indignant. Within seconds they were bickering about the pros and cons of learning by example versus learning by experience, and in the end Booth backed off with a laugh. He watched proudly as Brennan sent the ball down the center of the lane, even though it lost momentum and barely winged any of the pins. The smile on her face was worth it all.

Farrelly placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, showing his teeth in a cheesy grin that almost split his face in two. "Seel, when are ya gonna learn? There's two theories to arguin' with a lady and neither one works. Now, are we gonna bowl, or what?"

And so they did. And maybe they drank a little bit too much, and maybe they laughed a little bit too hard, but life was good again.

~o0o~


	15. Epilogue

_Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my soul, and I even lend that out on occasion, but only if you ask nice. Anything that even looks familiar in this story probably belongs to someone else (except the actual story - that's all mine, Mine, MINE [*maniacal laughter*]!)_

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Epilogue

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"Are you ready?"

Brennan checked her hair in the mirror one last time, as Booth came around to open the SUV's passenger door. She slid out before he had the door properly open, ending up nose to nose with him when she straightened. Her next words stayed his instinctive move backwards.

"Wait a minute." She reached both hands out; his tie was slightly askew and she straightened it, the movement of her fingers deft and sure. A quiver ran through him when one hand brushed against his neck, coming to rest lightly on his shoulder.

He caught her eye, his face serious and a little surprised at the contact, holding himself steady while she completed her self-imposed task with the concentration and deliberation she applied to anything she undertook. Her other hand snaked up to flatten out his collar, and he felt his mouth go dry.

She looked at him seriously from under her lashes, her voice soft as a whisper. "I couldn't do this without you, Booth. Thank you for coming with me." Her hands were still on his collar, and she moved them away self-consciously, but he caught one and gave it a light squeeze. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, pressing it against his chest.

"I get why you needed to come. And you don't have to be on your own. I'm here whenever you need me." His delivery was matter-of-fact, but his throat constricted with emotion.

Brennan nodded in agreement. "Partners look out for each other." She said solemnly and her grip tightened imperceptibly on his arm.

"Yeah, it's a partner thing." He frowned and looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. They were silent as they started to walk away from the vehicle.

"I suppose you're going to tell me to put on my sad face." She twisted her mouth in an attempt at a smile, drawing fire in a clumsy effort to deflect the intensity of his expression.

Booth stopped, in the process drawing his partner around to face him. He reached out a thumb, stopping the trail of a tear Brennan hadn't even realized she'd shed. He wanted to let his fingers curl around her cheek, and his hand hovered there for a second or two before he let it fall away, tingling. "There's nothing wrong with _this_ face. It's beautiful; compassion is beautiful, sympathy is beautiful … even rage can be beautiful, and it's all right there on your face." He pressed her hand against his chest once more. "C'mon, we'd better get over there."

They took their place beside the graveside, where Arlene Mitchell already stood talking quietly to another woman of around the same age, and exchanged smiles of greeting. Arlene gathered Brennan to her impulsively, ignoring the stiffness of the younger woman's response. She pulled back, faded gray eyes staring intently into brighter blue. "You are a very good woman, Temperance Brennan. Thank you for what you've done. We'll never forget it." She held her gaze a moment longer before releasing her, giving Brennan's arm a final pat, and went to stand with another older woman.

"What was that all about?" Booth wanted to know, but Brennan just responded with a dismissive shake of her head.

After a moment she turned to her partner, her tone agitated. "Maddy shouldn't have died like that, Booth. She shouldn't have lived like that." Brennan's voice broke on the last few words. She pressed her lips together, battling to muster her usual composure.

"I know. I don't think I'll ever be able to get past the fact that no one missed her, not just after her death, but during her life." Booth's thoughts went to his son, and he was comforted by the fact that he'd always made sure that Parker knew just how much he was loved, would always know, as long there was breath in Booth's body.

"Anthropologically I know that every society has its lowest common denominator; they represent what happens in a society if you fail. And every society fears that subtrahend. Joseph Williams and his family were that lowest denominator. What happened to Maddy should not happen in our society. But Booth," she sought out his eyes, obviously unable to shake off the tragedy of the whole situation. "No one cared."

"You cared, Temperance. We both did." She nodded, becoming lost in thought again.

Sally Beaumont approached them, her son holding tightly to her hand. The woman was not even thirty years old, yet she had the tired, beaten down air of someone who had already given up on life.

"Dr Brennan? I just wanted to say I'm right sorry about how I was that day at the police station. It's hard for me with Jerry being so bright and all. I thought maybe you were going to take him away from me and he's all I got. I know he took a real shine to you." Brennan gave Jerry a small smile at his mother's words.

Sally continued. "And I was just plain scared. No one crosses the Williams clan. I knew Jerry had seen somethin' and it was mixed up with that no-account Ethan, I just didn't know what. Mostly my boy keeps things to himself, even from me.

"Now I just want to say a proper thank you. I won't ever forget what you've done for us, Dr Brennan. Maybe one day my boy will find a better life somewhere's else because of you." She turned to her son. "Go on, Jeremiah, give it to her."

Jerry wordlessly held out a small tin, battered and obviously old. Brennan took it from him, incomprehension creasing the space between her brows.

"What is it?"

"It's Maddy's." Jerry answered in a small voice. "She asked me to keep it safe for her. In case she –" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Brennan stared at the tin for a long moment, its paint mostly chipped off so that only splotches of pink and blue remained, the lid held down with a double wrapping of filthy string. When she continued to stare at it dumbly, Booth took it from her, opening it cautiously. Inside there were some stubs of colored pencils, a blue resin butterfly that used to be covered in glitter but which now was only a faded representation of its former glory, several pictures of cute animals torn from magazines, a collection of buttons in the shapes of flowers, and a photograph.

Sally couldn't contain the sob that broke from her when she saw the photograph. She reached out for it; two pretty girls with an arm around each other's shoulders, smiling and waving at the camera.

"This is me – me and Caitlyn when we was about twelve years old." She went to hand the photo back to Booth, but he indicated that she should keep it. The distraught woman went on, "She was my best friend, y'know. When she fell with child, they took her in, Joseph Williams and that wife of his. She was only fourteen. She's kin to those Williams folk, closer'n me. But they told me she died at the birthin' along with her baby. And I believed them. God help me, I didn't even know Maddy was her baby." She started to cry and Jerry held on tighter to her arm as they moved away.

"Wait, Jerry." Booth handed the tin back to the only friend the little girl had known. "Maybe Maddy would like you to leave this with her, buddy." Jerry smiled bravely and nodded, hugging the tin to his chest.

Everyone fell silent as the priest approached the gravesite. The small white coffin was maneuvered into position, ready for interment. Jerry looked tiny as he proffered the tin containing Maddy's most precious treasures to the priest, who placed it reverently on the lid of the coffin. His mother stepped forward and placed the photograph alongside.

As the priest began the Rites of Committal, Booth risked a glance at his partner, hoping she wouldn't let her derision for his religion show, but all he saw was her beautiful, sad face. He let the opening words of the ritual comfort him, holding fast to Brennan's hand. A crunch of gravel distracted him and he flung a look over his shoulder. Sheriff Hillyard and two deputies approached them. Booth stiffened, his first heated thought being that they had come to interrupt the service somehow. But all three men took their place silently at the graveside, hats in hands, and Booth exchanged a nod with Matt Hillyard. He found his gaze drawn further away, as about twenty men and women headed towards them, walking solemnly, in twos and threes.

The pastor's gentle voice quoted Matthew 18:6, and Booth felt the fierce pressure of Brennan's hand at the words "_be drowned in the depths of the sea_". He let her channel her anger through her fingers even though the pressure made him wince. Looking away, he become aware of the progress of a group of half a dozen or so women coming into the churchyard from a different gate.

The priest's voice continued through the ritual, a gentle foaming wash of sound that soothed even Brennan. She had been introspectively contemplating the toes of her boots while the formalities took place, but looked up when Booth nudged her. What she saw made her eyes widen in surprise as, in the space of a few minutes, a crowd of around sixty or so people suddenly melded with the handful of individuals that had been at the graveside.

"Where were they when Maddy needed their help, or when she was murdered?" Although she spoke in an undertone, Brennan's sense of outrage carried effectively. Several in the crowd shot angry glares in her direction, but many more nodded sadly. Booth kept his eyes to the front, but edged a little closer to his partner.

The pastor intoned the final reading, "Revelation 21:4 _And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away._"

The service over, the cortege of mourners dispersed into little groups, talking softly. Brennan glanced around her. "Do we go now?" She made as if to head back to the truck, but Booth forestalled her.

"Wait up, Bones, we should speak to Arlene."

Brennan spotted Arlene in the midst of a large group of townspeople. "You go, Booth. I'll wait here." Booth shrugged and headed over to where their former hostess was holding court. Arlene spotted him coming and excused herself, meeting him half way.

"Agent Booth, I knew you and Dr Brennan would be back for the service. You've both got such good hearts."

"Well, Bones … she really wanted to come." He looked a little uncomfortable and changed the subject abruptly. "Say, Arlene, what did you thank Dr Brennan for before?"

"She didn't mention it?" He shook his head. "Dr Brennan's set up a trust fund for Jerry and other gifted kids like him. She's given him a future." She eyed him shrewdly. "So, have you talked your pretty lady 'round to your way of thinking yet?"

He sighed. "Arlene, I told you - "

"_Carpe diem_." She declared soundly, gripping his arm for emphasis. "Seize the day!"

"Really? I seem to remember the rest of that quote is 'trusting as little as possible in the future'. I gotta tell you, Arlene, I've got a lot of faith in the future."

Arlene looked distinctly put out, and scratched her chin thoughtfully. "_Carpe diem quam minime credula postero_. Hmm, you're right. I'd forgotten that bit."

"Old Horace goes on to say that the future is unknowable, and that instead you should scale back your hopes to a brief future, and drink your wine. I don't know about that and anyway, I'm more of a beer man myself." He treated her to his most charming smile.

"Okay, sugar, no need to be a smartass." She gave him a considering look that made him squirm. "You like to hide some of that light of your'n under a bushel, don't you? I wonder why? Maybe this will set better with ya'll: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift; that's why they call it the present." Her expression was comically emphatic and she added for extra emphasis, "It means _act now_."

"A little bit of down home philosophy, Arlene?" Booth asked wryly.

"A little bit of common sense, young man." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Good luck, Special Agent Seeley Booth. It was pleasure to get to know you." She turned away without ceremony, raising her voice to be heard above the general murmuring, and issued a blanket invitation to her home for 'vittles.' Booth didn't doubt she'd already prepared enough to feed everyone here, as well as their in-laws. For the most part people started following her.

Booth caught Brennan's eye as he sauntered back towards her. He raised his eyebrows and bobbed his head after them, mutely asking Brennan if she wanted to join them.

She shook her head, straightening her shoulders resolutely. "I just want to go home." She turned towards the parking lot, away from the direction the others had taken. Booth stood irresolute for a moment and then followed his partner, catching up to her easily.

"Arlene mentioned you'd set up a trust fund for Jerry. When were you going to tell me, huh?"

"It's not a big deal, Booth, it's just something to help get him started. He's very intelligent." Brennan was embarrassed that he'd found out about her generous act, and tried to brush past him.

"You're amazing, Bones."

She put on a burst of speed, leaving him behind and he had to sprint a couple of steps to catch up. She started speaking almost before he came up level to her. "Most anthropologists believe that you have to immerse yourself in someone else's world to understand your own." Her voice caught in her throat, and she increased her pace yet again, abandoning the gravel path and striding in a direct line across the perfectly manicured swathes of grass that filled the middle distance. Her long legs ate up the ground, even while the high heels of her boots jagged slightly in the grass. This time he was ready and stayed shoulder to shoulder with her. She continued, agitated, "I keep trying to do that, but I don't think I'm any closer to understanding and consequently being a part of my own world." She stopped unexpectedly and swung around to him, frustration and sadness painted in equal parts on her face.

"C'mon, Bones, you're being too hard on yourself." He started walking more slowly towards the parking lot and this time she fell into step next to him, matching his pace. His arm slipped easily around her waist and he pulled her close to his side in a gesture of comfort, his pulse leaping crazily when she leant into him and didn't move away. He lost the power of speech for a moment when he felt her hand snake tentatively around his waist, coming to rest lightly high on his hip. He cleared his throat, chin jutting forward while he got himself under control.

"You're part of my world, Bones, and that's pretty real." He reassured her quietly. "And you're part of Angela's, and Hodgins' and all of the squints. Even Zack's, not that he's really a convincing part of the argument, but you get my drift." Brennan's lip curled a little at Booth's comment, but she didn't respond.

"I know sometimes you don't get the lingo or movie references or even my jokes." He smirked at her good naturedly. "But you get the important things. You get how everyone deserves justice, you get good and bad and right and wrong, you get that even the least of us are still important … and, well, you get me." He gave her a look that was pure Booth; eyes narrowed looking up from under creased brows, head at an angle and his lips pursed in a burgeoning grin.

This brought a proper smile to her face, even though her reply held a world of doubt. "I don't know so much."

"Well I do. What else is bothering you, Bones; there's more to it than this. I know you too well."

"Just that it's all so sad."

"I get that, the whole thing that happened here is tragic. But I can tell there's more going on inside that head of yours than that. Do you want me to psychoanalyze you? I aced Psychology in college, I was even a TA for a while, and spending all that time with Sweets is starting to rub off on me."

Her brow creased in confusion and then cleared as she comprehended that he was using the jokey threat of psychoanalysis to disarm her, so she held her tongue this once on the value – or otherwise - of psychology and its status as a pseudo-science. She sighed; she could tell he wasn't going to let it go.

Avoiding his eyes, she let the words tumble jerkily from her. "Maddy was virtually a throw away child. I can't stop comparing that to what I felt at around her age; we were both outcast children in an unfriendly world." Booth went to speak, but she held up her hand. "I know our prospects and outcomes were vastly different, but I know how she felt, Booth. I know how she felt." When she finally raised her head and met his eyes she found only affectionate concern. She had dreaded seeing his pity.

He pressed his lips together and frowned slightly, marshalling his thoughts. "Look, that whole time of your life is a part of who you are; it always will be. We can't just surgically remove experiences from our lives, no matter how hard we try. Or how successful we think we are at doing that. We are who we are. You're not alone on this, you know."

She gave him a rueful smile. "I know. I don't usually dwell on these sorts of things, the emotional side of things. I find it … obfuscating."

"Well, next time you start getting … obfuscated - _is that a real word?_ - you can always come and ask me."

"Is that like a partner thing, too?"

"Yeah, Bones, it's a partner thing."

They stared into each other's eyes, one searching, the other finding.

"Let's go home." Booth proffered his arm.

Brennan hooked her arm through his. "Yeah. Let's go home."

* * *

Well, that's the end. Thanks to everyone who joined me on this journey; those precious PM'ers, reviewers, alerters and favouriters and anyone else that just read and enjoyed! I've had the best time and met some amazingly generous people. I've got another case fic in the pipeline, only this one's set on my home turf - Australia. Think kangaroos and wombats and great surf beaches and Uluru (huh?) ... and _'what happens on tour, stays on tour'_ ;P

Cheers, Megan.


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